Dorne's Great Heaven
by adrien skywalker
Summary: An 'What if' scenario. How would Westeros fare if one of the 4 greatest generals of Ancient China were to be re-incarnated in war-torn Westeros. A general with unparalleled military skills is re-incarnated into House Martell, which fundamentally alters the future of Westeros. Absolutely non-compliant with Canon. Now, War, Politics and Scheming take on a whole new level in Westeros.
1. Prologue

They moved swiftly, silently, with purpose, under a crystalline, star-filled night in western Dorne. They were soldiers, though one could scarcely make it from their appearance. There were three of them, and they had just completed a monumental task in service of their master, and were even now on their way to deliver a prized cargo to said master. On one of the horses, a sack had been thrown across the back of the horse, and a slight amount of shaking could be seen from it coupled with muffled noises.

The cargo that they were carrying had the potential to fundamentally change the course of the kingdom of Dorne. They couldn't fail. They couldn't afford to.

* * *

Meanwhile in the castle of Sunspear which was the seat of House Martell, the ruling house of Dorne, Prince Oberyn Nymeros Martell, the second son of the reigning Princess of Dorne barged into the solar of his mother, Lady Myriah Martell. Oberyn's appearance was that of a lined face with thin eyebrows, black "viper" eyes and a sharp nose. His hair was lustrous and black with only a few silver streaks which receded from his brow into a widow's peak.

Trembling with outrage, he stared at his mother and his nephew Quentyn Martell, the heir apparent to Dorne after the death of his elder brother, Prince Doran Martell, who were currently deep in discussion. His mother, the Lady Myriah, was old, nearly in her late sixties, and her face was wizened with the pressures that her family and her kingdom were currently enduring.

Her face was soft, but her eyes were still keen and discerning. One look at her younger son made her realize that he was currently in one of his infamous rages, and that unless he were to be placated soon, blood would be shed in the immediate future. Looking at the expression of his grandmother, Quentyn Martell, the only son of the deceased Doran and Mellario Martell, heir to the throne of Sunspear and Prince apparent to the throne of Dorne sighed and turned to face his uncle.

Quentyn was tall and graceful for his age, with auburn hair and bright blue eyes, and was the greatest hope Myriah had for Dorne. An unparalleled genius, Quentyn was possibly the most intelligent man she had ever known. She called him a man, despite him being 14 years old, for she alone knew the truth about her grandson, about who and what he really was.

"Can I help you, Oberyn? Is there a reason why you have chosen to barge in like this?" Myriah asked quietly, while Oberyn seethed.

"Yes, mother, you can help me by not ending this war. Even now Jon Arryn makes his way to us. Give me the word, and he shall not leave here alive. Robert Baratheon rejoiced at the death of my sister, now let us rejoice at the death of his adoptive father, let him also know the meaning of suffering," Oberyn seethed, while Quentyn shook his head in disappointment.

"Uncle, I understand your desire, more than anyone. Aunt Elia was a mother to me. She was the one who raised me after the death of my parents. And yet, we are now beset by enemies on all sides. We are currently in no position to take revenge on anyone. Any ill-conceived actions would spell doom for our house."

"Do not speak boy, you are but a child, and not yet old enough to understand the ways of the world," Oberyn snarled, while Quentyn frowned at the rude tone and blatant disregard his uncle was displaying currently.

"Is that all you care about, Oberyn? Revenge, irrespective of reason, irrespective of consequence?" Myriah looked at her son with a pained look, while Oberyn shivered violently, blinking away furious tears.

"And what about I want, justice for my sister, and her children? Are we to just ignore what has happened?"

"Justice delayed is not justice denied, uncle," Quentyn cut across sharply. "Your rage has blinded you to reason. Right now, we are beset with enemies everywhere, and we need to plan our moves carefully. And I have already begun the first step, by trying to safeguard Aunt Elia's reputation first and foremost," he concluded bluntly, while both the adults looked at him in surprise.

"Safeguard her reputation, as what? As a woman who was slighted by her husband in front of the world? As a woman who watched her husband abandon her for another woman? As a woman who watched her children be murdered in front of her? As a woman who was brutally raped and killed by the very man who slaughtered her children?" Oberyn barked in rage completely ignoring Quentyn's words, even as Myriah rushed at her son, and slapped him hard across the face, trembling with rage, even as tears streamed down her face.

"Rhaegar Targaryen's crimes against my aunt, go far deeper than that," Quentyn spoke softly as his grandmother looked at him with eyes wide in shock, while Oberyn paused.

"What do you mean?"

At that very moment, there was a knock on the door, and Areo Hotah, the captain of the guards of Sunspear entered and bowed. Trained as a bearded priest of Norvos, he was an exceptional warrior and had served Doran Martell, before his untimely death. He was now sworn to Quentyn as his sworn shield.

"Young master, they are here," he addressed Quentyn who nodded and replied, "Ask them to enter and bring in their prize."

"What is this, Quentyn?" Myriah asked softly, as three men walked in, carrying a large lumpy sack which they unceremoniously dropped on the ground. There was a very minute and muffled sound at that juncture, but neither Oberyn nor Myriah could hear it.

"These three men are spies, grandmother, spies who work for me, and who have brought a great prize to us," he replied, even as he nodded to Areo, who took out three pouches of gold and handed it to each of the spies. The men nodded, and the one who was their leader, came forth and handed over a roll of parchment to Quentyn who took it and nodded briskly, dismissing the man who bowed deeply and left along with his men.

"Spies? Prize? You are but 14 years old and you are running spies? Mother, I believe you have indulged his fancies for too long. He is clearly out of his depth," Oberyn complained while Myriah became silent, even as she gazed at her grandson who was reading through the parchment even whilst his face grew grim with each passing second as he read through the document. "Is that what you claimed it is?" she asked with a tremulous tone, even as her body slackened with despair. The lack of response solidified her doubts, and she collapsed to her knees and let out a heart-rending screech.

" **What is going on here?"** Oberyn all but roared, his patience clearly at an end, as he looked at his mother and nephew, realizing for the first time that perhaps quite a few secrets had been kept from him.

"This is proof of the final and the greatest insult, that Rhaegar Targaryen heaped upon Aunt Elia and House Martell. This is a document of annulment, ending his marriage with Princess Elia Martell, and removing his name from his children, and rendering them baseborn in the eyes of men and gods. And at the same time, this is also a document certifying his marriage to Lyanna of House Stark, making her his true wife, and declaring any subsequent children born from that union as the true heirs of House Targaryen," Quentyn growled in disgust, as Myriah began to sob uncontrollably, while Oberyn dropped his spear to the ground, numb with shock.

"It is not possible, he would not dare insult her so much," Oberyn whispered in shock, looking at his nephew, his eyes clouded with despair begging his nephew to tell him it was a lie. In response, Quentyn nodded to Areo, who propped up the sack and tore it open. Out of the sack stumbled a wizened old man, wearing the robes of the faith, who looked very tired and weathered, and was trembling in fear.

"This is High Septon Maynard, the man who officiated that annulment and also had Rhaegar Targaryen and Lyanna Stark married, in secret in the sept of Planky Town, inside Dorne I might add, while Dornish soldiers including our grand uncle were fighting and dying for that silver-haired fool. This document is the sole copy of the marriage roll that the good High Septon here was going to send by raven to the Citadel, to have the maesters record it in their archives and to grant it legitimacy in the eyes of the world. Fortunately for us, my men intercepted him before he could do that," Quentyn finished, even as Oberyn roared in anger and upended his mother's desk in blind fury. By the time he came to and found himself, the entire room was destroyed by his own hand. How long had it been?

"Are you done?" Quentyn asked even as he gestured to Oberyn who whirled around and his eyes fell upon the old septon who was trembling like a fig leaf.

He started towards the old man who squeaked in terror and tried to flee, but was brutally yanked back by the ever vigilant Areo Hotah.

"Tell me, High Septon, why did you allow Rhaegar Targaryen to proceed with this wedding? Did you not know that he was committing a crime in the eyes of the faith against his lawful wife, one who had stood by him, regardless of the indignities he had heaped on her? Did you not know that by doing this, you would be depriving two innocent children of their birthrights for no crime of theirs?" Quentyn asked softly, while the old man looked at the young boy with unease.

Something about that child bothered him. No boy of 14 was supposed to be this discerning, or this intuitive. It was almost as if he was an adult residing in a child's body.

"Targaryen's have been known to have multiple wives, it was his right! Who was I to deny the crown prince of the realm?" he shrugged almost fatalistically, and shot back with desperation rife in his tone.

"WHAT?" Myriah Martell whispered even as she whirled at him, her eyes bloodshot with rage, as the Septon panicked, realizing that maybe that was not the right answer in the given circumstances.

"He would have killed me if I had refused, and found another who would have conducted that marriage! What did you expect me to do? Die by refusing the Crown Prince of Westeros?" he shrieked in despair, as he struggled against the hard grip of the captain of the guards.

"No High Septon, you should have realized that if Rhaegar Targaryen would not kill you, then we would, for the crime that you have committed against House Martell," Quentyn replied even as he gave a crisp nod to Areo Hotah, who swiftly broke the man's neck with a resounding snap.

As the corpse fell down with a resounding thud to the ground, Quentyn looked at Hotah and began to issue orders with a crisp tone, as if he was accustomed to giving them on a regular basis.

"Areo, dispose of this corpse in such a manner that not even rats can find his bones. Then, once you are done, pick out a thousand men, disguise them and yourself thoroughly and pose as pirates and raid Planky Town. Raze that sept to the ground. Kill everyone who works at that sept down to the last breathing members of their families, be they man, woman or child. This secret cannot leak out any cost. The world must never know about the final and greatest insult that Rhaegar Targaryen has heaped upon Elia Martell, go now," he concluded even as he held out the parchment to the nearest torch and set it alight, thereby destroying the only recorded proof of Rhaegar Targaryen's act of infidelity.

"As you command, young master," Areo nodded with a curt bow and left carrying the corpse of the deceased septon along with him.

As Quentyn threw away the ashes of the burned parchment away and turned around, he became rigid as he felt the cold metal tip of a spear at his neck, while Oberyn Martell stared at him with a hard look in his eyes.

" _Who are you?"_

"Uncle, what are you doing?" Quentyn asked with a steely tone at which Oberyn pushed the spear tip in, just enough to graze the skin and draw a single drop of blood as a warning gesture.

"I repeat. Who are you? No child of 14, regardless of how prodigious or how skilled he is, is capable of making such decisions, or can undertake such activities. Even if it was magic, which I don't believe is the case here, there are some things which just cannot be taken for granted. You act and behave like a seasoned general of men, rather than a 14-year-old boy, and I do not believe that all of this was natural. At least, some parts of what happened right now, with regards to your behavior and speech was designed to arouse these doubts within my mind. So, who are you? Are you Quentyn Martell, or another man wearing his guise? A faceless man perhaps, if so, then their arts of disguise are commendable indeed," he mused even as he gazed at the young child in front of him.

"Well, I am waiting for an answer, boy!"

"I told you, he was sharper than you gave him credit for," Quentyn mused with a soft smile, even as he gazed at Myriah Martell, who wiped her eyes off, even as she composed herself and nodded.

"Yes, it would seem you are correct," she paused, even as she looked at Oberyn with a penetrating gaze. "Tell him, he needs to know, I have a couple of years at best left within this world, and you will need him for the times that are about to come, when I am no longer here. I am actually surprised. He is surprisingly insightful, I would have expected it of Doran, but not him."

"This ' _him_ ' is getting very impatient, and would like some answers, now," Oberyn growled, clearly upset at being ignored as the two continued to discuss amongst each other ignoring his presence.

Myriah scoffed at the pretentiousness of her son, even as she moved to a chair and sank down to it with a sigh.

"Tell him the truth, _Riboku."_

"Ribo…ku?" Oberyn seemed surprised at that name and looked at his mother in surprise, even as Quentyn shifted the spear tip away from his neck and gazed at Oberyn Martell. "Tell me, Prince Oberyn, do you believe in other lives, or to use a more fanciful term, reincarnation?"

* * *

Author's note:

Well, it has been nearly three years, but I am back. For a while, I had lost inspiration to write. Pressures of life, work and all that jazz.

For those who were dearly waiting for me to update my stories, my apologies.

I have totally lost interest in Naruto, after the way the series ended. I know that this has been the standard excuse for many to avoid finishing old stories, but then, during my last update I had joked that Kishimoto would bring all the past hokage's to life in an ass pull move, and to my surprise, I was proven right the very next week. From then on, I watched as the series moved into twilight zone territory with Kaguya and all that crap, and that killed Naruto for me. Same for Bleach, with the Quincy shit that Kubo pulled, but he gets a pass, because as per rumors, he was ill and his work suffered as a response. I don't think I will be updating my old stories any time soon, since my interest in those franchises is deader than dead.

Well, as you have seen, this new story is a crossover between Game of thrones and Kingdom, which is perhaps one of the best historical manga's I have ever seen.

So, I thought, what if one of the 4 greatest generals of Ancient China, who had the misfortune to be on the losing side, were to be reincarnated in Westeros, and what impact would it have.

For now: the basic premise is this, Riboku is re-incarnated as Quentyn Martell. Doran Martell is dead and his wife died in childbirth, as did their second child. So, no Arianne or Trystane. Furthermore, I made use of Doran's age gap with his siblings and made Quentyn older than canon by a few years. The story starts with the immediate aftermath of Robert's rebellion and carries from there.

Further details to follow. Next chapter will take a month hopefully, as seeing that a quarter of it is done. I will post it as soon as it hits 10k words.

Thanks,


	2. Opening Moves

After the mind-shattering revelations that had been made a few hours earlier, Oberyn Martell was lounging in his chambers as he retired for the night, with a goblet of wine in his hands, lost in thought.

 _A man from another world, born again as my nephew! Not just a man, but a great general and an unparalleled genius in the arts of war, a what was it he called … ah yes, a prime minister, the equivalent of the Hand of the King in his lands, a man who has commanded armies of hundreds of thousands of men, betrayed by his own king …. And now the Gods have seen it fit to have him take birth again as my nephew with all his abilities intact. Did you know of this brother? What would you have made of it, I wonder? I miss you Doran … now when I need it the most … you are gone, Mellario dead in childbirth, and now Elia … are our lives naught but playthings for the Gods, to be given and taken at a whim?_

He snorted, and then threw away the goblet to a side, even as it cluttered on to the floor and walked up to the window and stared at the moonlit sky.

He remembered the joy in his brother's face when it was announced that his lady wife had given birth to a son. All of Dorne had rejoiced at the birth of another heir to the seat of Dorne.

As the years passed, the child had proven to be exceptional in studies, be they military, political or literary. The maesters had raved about the boy's skills, going so far as to suggest an invitation to study in the citadel itself at the tender age of seven. Doran had been so proud.

Of course, now he knew the real cause of his nephew's brilliance. However, Oberyn had thrown it all out of his mind. Regardless of who or what his nephew was, Quentyn was the sole child of his siblings who now lived. House Martell truly was in dire straits. His mother was not long for the world, and he had no legitimate heirs. A concerted effort by their enemies would see House Martell being wiped out for good.

Hmph…he snorted, let the Septon's waste their thoughts on matters of life and death and of being reborn, let the Maesters waste their minds on matters of other worlds, it is my world that requires my attention. Everything else is but noise. Whatever he may be, he is still my nephew and will be my liege lord, all that I need to do is to discharge my duties as the spear of Dorne in his defense.

 _I am a simple man, and will remain and die such a man. Anything else is not my concern_.

* * *

China.

Once a land made up of six great kingdoms, the very mention of whose name made all sit up in wonder and awe, even as it induced envy and spite in all of its neighbors.

Now, it was naught but a complete wreck and a smoldering ruin, with its people scattered to the four winds. The few unlucky to survive, forever doomed to be slaves to the tyranny of a young monarch who sought to impose a draconian rule of law upon all those lands. The young king of Qin, a visionary beyond his time, he now knew, would achieve his goal of uniting all of China but it would be a pyrrhic victory at best. An empire forged upon ashes, one whose past and history would be swept aside by an ocean of blood, it would not … no it cannot last. He could see it, even as he was led to his execution.

The King of Zhao had willingly, greedily, believed the farcical evidences planted against him by the Qin, and was having him executed in secret, because he dared not do it in public. The king was jealous of the fact that Riboku was now seen as the king in all but name of Zhao, as he led the resistance against Qin, and was eager to stamp his authority over the people again. Furious at being upstaged by his own servant, the King of Zhao loathed his greatest general with the intensity of a thousand burning suns and had eagerly seized upon the plot hatched by Qin and had willingly partnered with them. As long as he was guaranteed his life and his wealth, he had no care for the people of his kingdom, and would not bat an eye if all of them had perished in front of his eyes.

The fool would not last longer on his throne, he was sure, but his heart went out to his people, the people of Zhao, who would now be at the mercy of Qin and the wiles of Qin's chief of military, Shouheikun. With his death, there was not a general present in Zhao who could now stand against the six great generals of Qin.

He watched Shouheikun, now the victor in their battles, standing silently by the Zhao king's side watching him with a stony gaze. But there was no joy in the victor's eyes. The very desire to live and feel had been sucked out from his soul. His body and mind pale, listless and without any pallor. The war had taken its toll. Of the 350,000 Qin soldiers who had come to Zhao's lands, less than 15,000 would be leaving home. Ashes to Ashes, dust to dust, the cost had been too much to bear. With Zhao, even the Qin had been destroyed, but unlike the Zhao who would now be annihilated without him to lead their defense, the Qin at least had the opportunity to go back home, and build back their lives.

The only ones who could truly rest, were the dead. This sentiment would be echoed throughout the ages; the words of the great Renpa, his predecessor, and the only survivor of the great heroes of their previous generation who still walked the lands alive.

 _Men are haunted by the vastness of eternity, and so I ask myself … will my actions echo across the centuries? Will strangers hear my name long after I am gone … and wonder who we were, how bravely we fought, how fiercely we loved? If they ever tell my story, let them say, I walked with giants. Men rise and fall like the winter wheat, but these names will never die. Let them say, I lived in the time of Gakuki, the God of War. Let them say, I lived in the time of Ouki, the monstrous bird of Qin. In the war between Qin & Zhao, the only true winners are the dead, for they alone will have peace, peace which will forever elude all those who survived. _

_Still, I have to say Shouheikun, were I the ruler of Zhao instead of being a mere general of Zhao, things would have been different, and the fate of China would have changed. Still, a nice thought but unlikely to become true anytime soo…._ at that moment, the axe fell and the head of Riboku, Prime Minister of Zhao and one of Zhao's three great heavens separated from his body.

At the same time, in a different world, Lady Mellario of Norvos, wife of Doran Martell gave birth to a boy who would be named Quentyn by his delighted father.

And so, the fates of China and Westeros were changed forever.

* * *

Next morning, as they all assembled to break their fast, Quentyn looked up at his uncle "Have you had a chance to organize your thoughts about yesterday's revelations?"

"Indeed," Oberyn nodded, "But I have decided to ignore them," the man concluded with a snort, even as his mother looked at him in disbelief while Quentyn narrowed his gaze.

"Do not look at me like that, mother. Let the Septon's waste their thoughts on matters of life and death and of being reborn, let the Maesters waste their minds on matters of other worlds, it is my world that requires my attention. Everything else is but noise. Whatever he may be, he is still my nephew and will be my liege lord, all that I need to do is to discharge my duties as the spear of Dorne in his defense. I am a simple man, and will remain and die such a man. Anything else is not my concern," he concluded with a curt nod towards Quentyn who bowed his head in gratitude.

"You never cease to amaze me, Oberyn," Myriah whispered, even as she wiped away a couple of tears from eyes and looked at her youngest son in pride.

"Well, now that we are done, shall we decide what is to be done now, Quentyn? Or would you prefer Ree-boku?" Oberyn smirked even as he unintentionally butchered the name.

"Quentyn is fine, uncle. Riboku was the past, and now it is Quentyn who must look to the future," his nephew replied, while Oberyn raised his goblet in a toast appreciating the sentiment.

"So, I reiterate, what are we to do?"

"With your permission, I will outline a plan, which I believe is currently the safest path for Dorne to take, if you are both agreeable?" Quentyn proposed even as he looked at both his grandmother and uncle for approval. He got it, as both the elders gave guarded nods.

"It would be to our benefit, if you are not present uncle, when Jon Arryn comes to present terms."

" **WHAT? What are you** …," Oberyn started furiously, even as Quentyn raised his hands to stall any objections.

"Hear me out, please, before you jump to any rash conclusions. It is well known throughout Westeros that you are a man given to rashness and impulsiveness, and that you lose control of your temper quite frequently. Frankly put, that is a weapon that our enemies can make use of right now, and one that could potentially wipe out our house. I would not put it past Tywin Lannister to attempt such a thing right now."

"Explain," Myriah retorted curtly, even as Quentyn stood up and started pacing around the room.

"Even as we speak here, Tywin Lannister's eye is firmly fixed upon Dorne, as are the eyes of entire Westeros. Tywin knows beyond a doubt that he has made an enemy of House Martell for eternity, and as such will seek to curtail us and subjugate us under the new realm that is about to come, before we can even think of enacting our revenge. Imagine, what would happen if Jon Arryn were to suddenly die of poisoning while in Dorne, demanding terms of surrender from us for Robert Baratheon? The man known as the adoptive father of the next King of Westeros dying of poison in Dorne, where one of its ruling prince's is a known user of such substances! A prince who is known to have a grudge against the new King of Westeros for condoning the murders of his sister and her children! Robert Baratheon will not rest until he has razed all of Dorne to ground, and we must not give them such an opportunity."

Oberyn and Myriah Martell were rocked back in their seats, taken aback by the possibility of such a thing. They could very easily see such a thing happening as well.

"Do you really think Tywin will stoop to that level?" Myriah asked in a harsh whisper.

"It is what I would have done, if I were in his place," Quentyn replied. "Make no mistake, what happened in King's Landing was nothing but a declaration of war. Tywin Lannister is the kind of man who will do anything to ensure that House Martell will pose no threat to the grand future he is building. He will not give us the chance to rest from this war, and to recover and pose a threat in the long term to his house."

"What grand future? You are not making any sense of this Quentyn?" Myriah asked in confusion, while Oberyn tried to think of possible answers.

"Answer me, both of you, why did Tywin Lannister to go to the extent that he did in King's Landing? Having his son kill the King, and then by having his men murder and butcher Aunt Elia and her children?"

"Because he waited too long to join the rebellion, he needed to do something out of the ordinary to ensure that he got into the good graces of the rebellion," Myriah spoke out in a confused tone, while Quentyn shook his head.

"He could have done that very easily. All that was required was for his son to capture the King and his family, and the city would have fallen without a single life lost. With a warrior of Jaime Lannister's capabilities, and with the wealth of House Lannister, that was well within their reach. No, the reason why he went to such brutal reasons was for two reasons. One, to make a statement to the whole world that he was still a man to be feared, and two, to lay down the groundwork for his legacy."

He slowly walked towards the wall and took out a knife and drew a vertical line and tapped on the left side of the line. "There are 2 sides to his actions. One, remember that by killing Rhaegar Targaryen, Robert Baratheon has now carved his name in history, as the one who has ended a four-hundred-year-old dynasty, and one of the last remnants of the ancient Valyrian empire. Regardless of what he does in the future, his name is now renowned as one of the greatest warriors in the world, his actual military skills notwithstanding. In one swoop, he is now acknowledged as the most powerful man in Westeros, a position that Tywin has held for the last 20 years. This act of brutal sacking of the capital was done by Tywin to remind the world that while Robert may be the new power in Westeros, he is still a man to be feared."

"He killed thousands of people, just to ensure that people continue to fear him?" Oberyn asked in revulsion while Quentyn nodded.

"That is the way of tyrants, uncle. Tywin is a man who fears weakness above all. He is defined by it, consumed by thoughts of it, and he will go to any lengths to remove any association of it with his house."

"Due to what happened with his father and the Reyne's," Myriah nodded in acknowledgment as Quentyn nodded.

"Exactly, Tywin Lannister will kill himself before he admits any weakness. The humiliation he endured in his childhood, and the memories of House Lannister's weakness during his father's reign has defined him. He will do anything, and I mean absolutely anything to ensure that House Lannister remains strong no matter what."

"Second," he continued, even as he tapped the tip of the knife on the right side of the line, "He did not do this, just to gain the good graces of Robert Baratheon. His sole aim in life is to ensure a dynasty that will last a thousand years, a dynasty led by House Lannister, and what better way to ensure it, by having his daughter become the new queen of Westeros?"

"Impossible, Robert Baratheon will not set aside Lyanna Stark, no matter what. He fought the war for her for god's sake," Oberyn refused to accept that possibility. All of them carefully avoided mentioning the fact that Rhaegar had married Lyanna in secret. That was a secret all three of them would take to their grave. Those three and Areo were the only ones who knew that secret, and that was how it would remain.

"You are assuming that Tywin will let her live to become the queen," Quentyn retorted coldly, freezing Oberyn and his grandmother at the spot where they stood.

"Do not forget, Tywin has always dreamed of having his daughter as the queen, and was spurned publicly by Aerys who chose Elia for Rhaegar. Elia's death was a statement by Tywin. He had her punished, because in his eyes, she had insulted House Lannister by taking the place of his daughter. In Tywin's eyes, only his daughter deserves to be queen. More to the fact, she is the lynchpin in his plans to ensure that House Lannister has a dynasty that can last a thousand years. If Lyanna Stark is alive, then Tywin Lannister will have her killed one way or another, to ensure that his daughter Cersei becomes queen. I will stake my life on it."

"And he believes that making an enemy of House Martell is worth the price for this," Oberyn snarled as he too began to pace around the hall.

"A price which we will extract with interest, I assure you," Quentyn replied back, as he stopped pacing and looked at both of them.

"How?" Oberyn asked sharply.

"Uncle, Grandmother, the first thing we need to do is to summon all the bannermen of House Martell to Sunspear. Afterwards, Grandmother, you will present our terms to Jon Arryn in their presence."

"Them being?"

"Simple. Amory Lorch and Gregor Clegane to be handed over to us in order for us to have an equitable peace, and for Dorne to lay down its arms. Make sure to word it so that there are no misconceptions. Those two to be handed over to us, in order for Dorne to stop the war, and just that. Nothing else," Quentyn cautioned while the other two considered his words.

"And what of Robert Baratheon's demand for us bending the knee to him?" Oberyn snarked with a huff, while Myriah became pensive, and sat down silently.

"For that, we extract a higher price," Quentyn replied coolly, "Dorne will bend the knee to Robert Baratheon if and when they hand over the head of Tywin Lannister."

"You cannot be serious, why would Jon Arryn, much less Robert Baratheon or Tywin Lannister accept that?" Myriah looked at her grandson, her eyes wide with disbelief.

"Who needs them to accept in the first place? This demand is for the other lord paramount's to ponder upon. They hand over Tywin Lannister or Dorne becomes an independent kingdom once more. In reality, these terms are designed to ensure the independence of Dorne regardless of what may occur, nothing more nothing less. For there is nothing in this creation, that will make Dorne kneel to a witless whoremonger like Robert Baratheon. House Martell will not and cannot bow to a man bereft of dignity, honor and the right of kingship."

"Aah," Oberyn chuckled, "clever, you offer terms that Tywin and Robert cannot contemplate, but which the other lord paramount's can. In essence, a ploy to drive a wedge between them all. Since Robert has not been crowned as king yet, it falls upon the Lord Paramounts to take a call. Jon Arryn would agree, but does not have the power to see it through. Hoster Tully would not care, and Mace Tyrell, the less said the better. Only Eddard Stark has the power and the strength to bring Tywin to heels, but he will not. He is far too preoccupied with searching for his sister to bother with anything else. And if he contemplates going after Tywin, then the Iron Throne fractures, which again is in our favor. And the Ironborn do not care about what happens to the mainlands."

"Exactly, while you are placing our terms to Jon Arryn, grandmother, I will be leading the army of Dorne to the marches on the border. No one knows that we sent only a fifth of our strength to the battle on the Trident. We will swiftly take all of the marshlands, the lands under the control of both Dorne and the Reach to be exact. The presence of all the banner men is to ensure that Jon Arryn does not suspect any treachery on our part. While they are all here, I shall lead the forces of Dorne in a swift campaign to permanently secure those lands. If we control the marshlands, then no army in existence can threaten Dorne ever again. We will secure Dorne's independence for good."

"So, you wish to command all the banners yourself … the bannermen will not like it," Myriah cautioned, at which Quentyn nodded.

"They don't need to like it, they just have to accept it. You will need to delay Jon Arryn as much as possible. Because as soon as Jon Arryn hears of our terms and our declaration of independence, within weeks, the Reach will attack us with all their strength."

"How can you be so sure?" Oberyn asked with a tense voice even as he considered that fact of Dornish independence, a heady thought to be sure.

"Because, I trust in Olenna Tyrell's greed," Quentyn smiled thinly.

"What?" Oberyn looked at him nonplussed, as he tried to understand what the queen of thorns had to do with this matter.

Quentyn chuckled, "As of now uncle, the reason why the Targaryen's lost the rebellion can be blamed upon the Tyrell's. Simply put, what was the need for 60,000 men to surround a single castle? Even if it is a castle like Storm's end? A force of 20,000 could have been sufficient to ensure a siege and to prevent any reinforcements from reaching them. With another 40,000 men at his hand, Rhaegar Targaryen could have wiped out the rebellion. But they all sat at storm's end, feasting in front of the besieged castle. The Reach can call upon 100,000 men, and yet they summoned only 60,000 and the only thing they did was besiege a castle. Do you not find that strange? Why would Randyll Tarly, the only man in Westeros, who managed to defeat Robert Baratheon himself in battle simply stand aside in such a meaningless siege?"

"Because Olenna ordered him to do so," Myriah snorted in disgust, while Quentyn nodded in agreement.

"Exactly. The Tyrell's waited to see who would win, before throwing their lot in with the victor. Under the Targaryen's the Tyrell's have gained no special favors, no royal marriages, no positions in the Kingsguard or the small council. If the rebels won, they would claim as they have now, that they were only following orders under duress, and show that they simply besieged Storm's end, and caused no harm to Robert Baratheon's brothers. Weary of battle, and madly desiring peace, Jon Arryn would accept their terms and the Tyrell's would retain their lands and titles without losing anything, as is the case now. And that will give them an opportunity to ingratiate themselves further with the new regime, as they try to raise themselves further. On the other hand, if the Targaryen's had won which is a moot point now, they would have stormed Storm's end, and claimed that they had obeyed orders to the letter and would have reaped the rewards with minimal losses. Either way, they would be the only ones who would have lost the least in this war."

"Treacherous cowards," Oberyn snarled, while Quentyn shook his head. "No, they are pragmatic and calculating people, who look to gain the most by spending the least. This is how a woman wages war, uncle. Remember it."

"So, once I declare Dornish Independence, the Reach will invade Dorne in order to subjugate us and claim favor with the new regime, is that your belief?" Myriah asked, even as she looked out of the window to see the sprawling city outside.

"That is the way Olenna Tyrell's mind works. She will calculate all the benefits and the losses that they may incur. With uncle Oberyn away, and grand-uncle Llewyn dead, and myself being so young, she will theorize that there no leaders in Dorne capable of matching Randyll Tarly. Robert Baratheon may have accepted the Reach's surrender, but there is still bad blood between them. By conquering Dorne, she will try to gain favor in the new regime, a position in the small council, one of her daughters married to Robert's brother Stannis, and some lands from Dorne added to the Reach. As such, she will come to the conclusion that this is a worthwhile venture, much to be gained and little to lose," Quentyn Martell concluded with a grim smile, while Oberyn and Myriah watched dumbstruck as he calculated all possible scenarios with frightening precision.

"And by invading the marshes beforehand, you will preempt them and also gain an unassailable advantage before the war," Oberyn nodded appreciatively at which Quentyn smirked with a smug gaze.

"If the bannermen of Dorne are to accept my rule, I must demonstrate that I am capable of leading them through the most turbulent times. The fact that I am 14 years notwithstanding, in this invasion of the marshlands, I shall demonstrate to you what it means to win through overwhelming difference in strength," Quentyn replied curtly while Myriah nodded her assent, and even Oberyn, after a moment's contemplation did the same.

"This is all well and good, but you have yet to make it clear what I am supposed to do in Braavos?"

"There uncle, you will launch the opening strike of our vengeance against Tywin Lannister," Quentyn replied curtly.

"Oh? do elaborate," Oberyn asked, even as he poured a second round of wine for both himself and his mother, as they both stared at him.

"Simple," Quentyn retorted, "Tywin Lannister did all this to leave a legacy that will last a thousand years. However, I will be the one who will now decide what shape and form that legacy takes. Every single thing he has worked his entire life to achieve; I will take from him, trample it in front him, while ensuring that he is incapable of stopping it. He fears weakness? By the time I am done with him, the name Lannister will become synonymous with weakness, and his father will be considered as a giant compared to him. I will make him the laughing stock of the world. I will not rest until the Westerlands have been utterly destroyed."

Even as Quentyn spoke calmly, without any emotion, Oberyn was petrified with fear at the casual way in which the boy, no … the general in him, spoke.

 _What a demon … he is completely serious._

"And what will Oberyn do over there, Quentyn?" Myriah tried to steer the conversation back from the chilling atmosphere that had engulfed the room.

"Yes," Quentyn turned to look at his uncle and faced him dead on, "In Braavos, uncle, you shall approach the faceless men and buy two deaths. Deaths that will play a great role in ensuring Dorne's independence and the death of the Iron throne."

Oberyn took a deep breath while Myriah froze in shock.

"And who would they be? Hiring the faceless men to kill 2 people at the same time would drain even Dorne's coffers nephew," the famously brash prince cautioned, while Quentyn acknowledged the fact.

"But a price that must be paid. Against Dorne's future, what is a few chests of gold?" he asked rhetorically even as the others conceded the point.

"Who?" Myriah asked sharply, as Oberyn also had a look of expectation on his face.

"The first will be Kevan Lannister, the brother of Tywin and his right-hand man. Though he has served under his brother all his life, it is not as if his talents are beneath his brother's. It is Kevan Lannister who acts as the glue that holds the Westerlands together. His skills in managing the lands, the armies and the day-to-day affairs of the Westerlands are unmatched. Without him, the affairs of the west are crippled. Tywin does not trust anybody else in the Westerlands enough to handle these duties, not even in his family, and he will be forced to take them over himself, which means he will have to cut down on the time he is spending on the aftermath of the rebellion and any schemes he is planning towards us. A most welcome diversion, which will allow us to make our moves all the easier."

"Agreed, and who is the second?" Oberyn asked with a hardened glint in his eye.

"We will hold on that for now, once Kevan Lannister is dead, we need to observe the reactions of the other kingdoms before making the next move. The second target is the most unexpected one, and the one which will bring us the most rewards. Trust me on this," Quentyn replied, at which Myriah and Oberyn after a moment's consideration gave their assent at which Quentyn leaned on the table and looked at his elders.

"Well, shall we begin?"

* * *

 **Author's note:**

 **Well, I thought to wait till 10k words, but then, I feared I might get lazy and keep putting off updating until I hit the 10k word limits, so I cut it by half.**

 **Next few chapters will be plot setting, and then we will go to hardcore destruction of canon.**

 **Fates and thoughts of other houses will be forthcoming in upcoming chapters.**


	3. It Begins: Opening Act

The sunlight spread across the horizon, a red slash that bled across the darkness, like blood spilling forth from a freshly wrought wound over an unscarred body.

Jon Arryn stood across the windswept cliff where his party had made their night camp on their way to Sunspear, on the peaks of one of the cliffs of the Ghost Hills, the last barriers before the road to Sunspear became clear. As his men began preparations to pack up and start their journey, Jon Arryn took a moment to contemplate the state of affairs in the realm.

 _Such folly,_ he leaned back against the boulder as he contemplated the cause for this trip. One young man's anger and another old man's greed, and the whole of Westeros must bleed for this mistake. Not for the thousandth time, he cursed Tywin Lannister to the deepest pits of hell imaginable for causing this situation in the first place.

Suddenly, he was disturbed from his thoughts as he heard the shouts of his guards, yelling at each other, and hastily reaching for their weapons while grouping together into a loose formation.

 **"HALT! STATE YOUR PURPOSE!"**

 **"WHO ARE YOU?"**

 **"STOP HIM! DO NOT LET HIM APPROACH THE LORD UNCHALLENGED!"**

As he grabbed his sword and looked askance at the source of the commotion, Jon Arryn could make out a lone rider racing towards their group at full speed astride a giant destrier from the North, from the direction of the Crownlands. A few hundred yards behind the rider, he could make out a few dozen more horsemen riding hard trying to catch up to the leader. As the leader came ahead, the sunlight bounced off harshly from his armor making it look as if a miniature sun had come about. The sunlight bouncing off the burnished bronze nearly blinded the old lord of the Vale for a moment, who smiled and sheathed his blade.

"Stand down! It is lord Yohn Royce who approaches! Let them pass!" he ordered as his guards relaxed at the news. Soon, the lord of Runestone was upon their position. He waved a hand at the old lord, and alighted from the horse and handed over the reins to a guard who had rushed forward, and made his way towards his master.

"Greetings, Lord Royce! To what do we owe this unexpected yet pleasant surprise?" Jon greeted his most powerful and loyal vassal, and gave him a brief embrace after clasping his forearm in the traditional greeting form. A few moments later, the rest of Lord Royce's party approached as well, and were similarly greeted by Lord Arryn's men who rushed to assist their fellow countrymen.

"I bring word my lord, of great tidings. Much has happened while you were traveling in this desert, and lord Hoster Tully bid me ride abreast as quickly as possible to keep you updated," Yohn replied even as Jon led him into his tent.

"The situation must be dire indeed, if it has even you running ragged," Jon mused even as he poured out a glass of wine from a wineskin and handed it over to the valeman who took it with gratitude and drank deeply. After a few minutes, sighing loudly Yohn Royce settled down for a bit while Jon sat opposite his old friend and motioned for him to continue.

"I must caution you my lord that the facts we have are still disjointed. Various reports were still coming in, but Lord Varys and Lord Tully were of one opinion that you needed to be apprised of certain facts before you reach Sunspear," Yohn began.

"Very Well. So, what have you learned, Yohn?" Jon asked, focusing his mind as he gazed at his bannerman.

"Well, for one my lord, the Ironborn have moved at last, the Greyjoy brothers, Balon, Euron & Victarion have set sail with their respective fleets, and have targeted White Harbor, Lannisport & Seagard. The attacks were claimed to have been conducted swiftly, mercilessly and in absolute stealth. Apparently, going by the reports from Seagard and Lannisport, they came in the dark, raided and pillaged to their hearts content and disappeared without a trace," Yohn concluded.

Jon Arryn's face was wroth with anger and he stood up with a roar and flung his goblet afar even as he screamed, "How the hell does an enemy attack successfully and disappear without a trace?" in a tone which made even the hardy lord of Runestone wilt.

"The details are sketchy my lord, but Lord Varys is attempting to get more information even now. Perhaps it would be prudent to let him assemble the information first and present it in an orderly manner so that we can make the correct decisions in response," Yohn finished trying to smooth the troubled waters.

"Yes, Yohn, I suppose so," Jon allowed himself to calm down and sat down again.

"What else?"

"In response to these threats, Lord Tully has ordered the bulk of the Riverlands forces to return home, now that the war is dying down. He claims that leaving his lands undefended, while the Ironborn are on the move is not feasible and nothing we can say will dissuade him from this matter. The same goes for Lord Lannister; even as I left, his brother was already busy making preparations to lead the bulk of the Lannister army back into the Westerlands. And it would be easier to squeeze blood out of stone than trying to convince Tywin Lannister to change his mind."

Jon stood up and again began to pace around, "This is exactly what I was afraid of, Lord Royce. By attacking now, the Ironborn have thrown everything we have achieved into jeopardy. The realm is not stable yet, Dorne has not yet dipped its banners, and now of all times, the Ironborn choose this particular time to go back to their old ways. As a direct result, two of the four core armies of the Rebellion are now disbanding, no, rather than saying that, it would be safe to say they are relocating home. That reduces our military strength by half already and places us in a very precarious position."

"The Reach has surrendered to Robert, but their loyalty is by no means guaranteed. If they ally with Dorne, then Westeros will literally be broken in half, and with the armies of the Riverlands and Westerlands gone away from the Crownlands, we will be in a difficult position if the Reach, Dorne and the Iron Islands ally with each other and attack Kings Landing."

"Do you really think the Reach will ally with Dorne after dipping their banners to Robert? They cannot be that shameless my lord, they would lose all credibility with the other ruling houses in Westeros," Yohn Royce pointed out, while Jon Arryn dismissed his words with a wave of his hand.

"PAH! Those assholes in the Reach are the most self-centered and conceited pricks that I have ever had the displeasure of knowing in my entire life. The Reach, and consecutively House Tyrell respect only strength and power, and nothing else."

"You must remember Lord Royce, that over the past thousands of years no dynasty has ever ruled over the entire collective Westeros apart from the Targaryen's. The Targaryen's were able to force their will upon the seven kingdons and rule them for the last four centuries only because they had the insurmountable might of Dragons on their side at the beginning of their reign. You can say that the decline of House Targaryen began the moment the last Dragon died. We are now witnessing the last days of the Targaryen dynasty."

"We have deposed House Targaryen through our rebellion and are trying to install Robert Baratheon as the new King of Westeros. To many of the lords, this is unacceptable though they might not object publicly. Quite a few ambitious lords will start rebellions of their own if order is not imposed quickly. If we can rebel to overthrow a king that we do not like, then what is to stop certain reticent vassals of ours to rebel against our houses by saying they do not like us? Every Kingdom has at least one powerful vassal house which has historic enmity with its ruling houses. House Bolton for Stark, Frey for Tully, Hightower for Tyrell, and so on for a few noteworthy examples. Imposing order as quickly and resolutely as possible is our only way forward. We ought to not only think about preventing the collapse of the existing order, but the safeguarding of the future as well."

"Your words are wise and insightful as ever, my lord. Your wisdom never ceases to amaze me," Yohn acknowledged his liege lord's words with a curt nod of respect.

"Hmm, I forgot in the heat of my words, did Lord Stark also order his army back? If I recall your words correctly, then the North has been attacked as well, correct?" Jon Arryn asked, while cringing inwardly, thinking about the reply he was sure he would get in the affirmative.

So, he was quite shocked, when Yohn Royce gave a sharp bark of a laugh and shook his head, "You may rest easy on that count, my lord. Lord Umber, who remained in Kings Landing as the commander of the Army of the North, assured me that even before mustering his army, Lord Stark had anticipated such an event, and had made adequate preparations to defend the North from Ironborn raids in the absence of the Northern Army, if such an event were to occur. His prudence seems to have paid off splendidly. Of the three Ironborn Raids, only the raid on the North seems to have failed. The reports state that the Northmen handled the Ironborn roughly, but they did not emerge unscathed either. But compared to the results of the raids in the Riverlands and Westerlands, the raid on the North could be likened to a mere pin-prick if nothing else."

"As expected of Eddard," Jon praised, his face flush with pride, "that boy does not make a single wasted move. At the very least, it is reassuring to know that the strongest army in Westeros, the Northern Army, still remains at our side and has not turned back home."

"Back to the matter at hand, what else?" Jon ordered.

"The Army of Dorne has finally moved," Yohn Royce spoke in a curt tone.

"What? Where? And how many men?" Jon asked in rapid succession even as fear took place in his heart at the possible ramifications of such a move.

"Three weeks ago, from what we can make out," Yohn replied back with a grim voice. "A force of forty thousand at least. They seem to have mustered their full strength and have made their way to the Prince's pass, and have blockaded it completely, and are staying put for now."

"Forty thousand! They have fielded an army of forty thousand! How is that possible? We all believed that nearly two thirds of Dorne's army perished on the battle of the trident!" Jon exclaimed in horror as he began to perspire even in the cool confines of his tent.

"It seems Dorne has misled the entire world, my lord," the lord of Runestone chuckled ruefully, "They sent a fifth of their full might to the battle of the trident, and made the whole world believe that they had been beaten, when in reality they were hiding like the vipers they are, to strike at the opportune moment."

"Have they crossed over into the lands of the Reach?" Jon asked, fearing the possibility of an alliance between the Reach & Dorne. With the army of 80,000 of the Reach, and the newly revealed 40,000 of Dorne, they would make a very potent force. Adding the possibility of the Ironborn into the mix led his thoughts towards a path which the old falcon did not wish to take even in his worst nightmares.

"Strangely, no, my lord, they have entered the marshlands, and they appear to be consolidating their hold over the entire area. The reports state that they seem to have already taken over the entire uninhabited regions of the Marshlands, not just the part belonging to Dorne mind you, but the part belonging to the Reach as well. They have for all appearances and purposes declared war on the Reach instead, if one were to look at it in a certain way," Yohn Royce finished while Jon Arryn froze, unable to comprehend what he was hearing.

"Are they out of their minds? Why are they picking a fight with the Reach of all kingdoms? Is Prince Oberyn out of his mind? What is he thinking?" Jon exploded, even as he began to pace back and forth, furiously thinking of any possible rationale for the move.

"That is what has all of us perplexed, my lord, for it is not Oberyn Martell who commands the Dornish army," Yohn replied bluntly throwing his lord for a loop.

" **WHAT!?"**

"From what we can make out, the army of Dorne is being commanded by young Quentyn Martell, the heir of Dorne," Yohn Royce continued his face echoing the disbelief he felt while uttering said words.

"You cannot be serious! Myriah Martell has placed the entire might of Dorne in the hands of an untested and green boy? What is she thinking? And where in the world is Oberyn Martell? If anyone should be commanding the armies of Dorne, it should be their greatest warrior, not some child!" Jon retorted, even as his words and his face displayed the sheer disbelief that he was currently feeling.

"If the reports are to believed, then Prince Oberyn Martell has been temporarily banished to Braavos. Apparently, the good lady Martell believes that having the Red Viper present when you would arrive to present your terms, would guarantee the failure of any talks before it even begins. So, in order to give peace a chance, she seems to have sent him away, and has ordered all her bannermen to Sunspear to prevent any sort of collusion between them and her hotheaded son. And at the same time, she has sent the entire military might of Dorne to the borders, under the command of her young and untested grandson. Quite a puzzling series of events, if I may be bold as to say," Yohn concluded with a deep sigh.

Jon Arryn was silent for a few minutes, and then he looked at Yohn Royce with a very unsettled look on his face, " **Something is very wrong. I can feel it in my bones**."

"That is the only thing I can safely agree upon currently, my lord," the lord of Runestone quipped back, while Jon cracked a thin smile. "Well, we will reach Sunspear in three days. _There is no way this thing can get any worse_ ," Jon Arryn snarked even as the two old lords chortled for a bit as they laid down to rest for a bit.

They had no idea of how wrong they were.

* * *

 **IN KINGS LANDING, AT THE SAME TIME,**

* * *

Lord Varys, the Master of Whisperers for the Kingdom of Westeros, and currently serving as the same for the King-in-Waiting, Robert Baratheon, looked at the message he had just received in his hands and clenched his teeth in impotent anger.

All his plans for the foreseeable future and his efforts to bring some sort of stability in Westeros had just been dealt a death blow, if the contents of the message he had just read were true.

Either way, for his own survival he had no choice but to inform King Robert. Again, he rued the fact that Jon Arryn, Hoster Tully and Eddard Stark, the only three men in existence who could temper Robert Baratheon's rage were currently away. Then again, considering the contents of the message, Lord Stark would not be in a position to do anything for quite some time, if his guess was right. _A pity,_ he mused, he could have used the help. But there was no use in crying over spilt milk.

He sighed deeply and walked away, leaving a small rumpled note on the desk.

It contained a simple message.

 _Lyanna Stark murdered by Sir Arthur Dayne in front of Eddard Stark._

 _Only Eddard Stark and Lord Howland Reed live, Dayne has killed his fellow Kingsguard and five of Stark's men, and has made his way back into Dorne._

 _War is most certainly upon us._

* * *

 **Author's note: YEAH. I JUST DID THAT. I DID SAY I WAS GOING TO BUTCHER CANON HORRENDOUSLY. I BELIEVE THIS IS A GOOD START.**


	4. Highgarden

**In Highgarden, Home of House Tyrell, Lords Paramount of the Reach, 3 months after the sacking of Kings Landing,**

* * *

" **WH-WHAT?"**

 _"The Dornish have launched an invasion at us?"_

 _"Are you absolutely certain?"_

 _"Yes, My Lord! They've already taken over the entirety of the southern marches and crossed the Prince's pass & have taken positions near Starpike."_

 _"What? How could House Peake allow that? They are responsible for maintaining the defensive garrison at the Southern Marches!"_

 _"That is … the defensive garrison commanded by House Peake was completely wiped out, my lord!"_

"This is madness," Mace Tyrell, Lord of Highgarden, Warden of the South, and Lord of the Reach roared in anger as he smashed his wine glass, a prized item made from Myr, against the wall, even as it smashed into pieces, as he vented out.

All the assembled Lords and Noblemen in the chamber just stood rooted into their places, their minds still trying to adjust what they had heard.

"Are they out of their minds? To invade the Reach of all places at such a time! Are they even aware of their own precarious position?" Lord Branston Cuy, the lord of Sunhouse groused, as he looked at his fellow nobles in bewilderment.

"Aye, have the reverses they suffered at Kings Landing addled their minds?" Lord Mathis Rowan, the Lord of Goldengrove asked in amazement, even as he looked at his fellow lords.

"Oberyn Martell must be even more incensed than we thought," opined Ser Baelor Hightower, the heir of House Hightower, as some of the lords began to look at him askance in surprise.

"Yes, it makes sense," agreed his father, Lord Leyton Hightower, Lord of Oldtown. "Just look at the path they are taking. It is just three days march away from Starpike, where they can come up to the Mander, and transfer their entire army by the river all the way up to Bitterbridge, where they can bypass the Rose Road, and avoid facing our armies, and continue on to Kings Landing. For them, that is the best option," the old Lord opined, even as he traced out the route he had mentioned on the map of the Reach in front of all of them, hanging from the wall, as guarded nods came from the rest of the Lords.

"Regardless," Mace Tyrell blustered, his face red and his jowls quivering in anger, "This outrage cannot be allowed to stand. I will not allow Oberyn Martell to rampage through the Reach as he pleases. Make preparations for an emergency War Council," he ordered as pages ran into the chamber and began clearing up the food platters on the tables set for the feast and began to rearrange the room and the furniture within. Another set of servants rushed in and various maps detailing the various regions of the Reach were put up on the large floor, while wooden figurines, depicting the various forces of the reach, were placed on the various points at the maps which denoted their staging areas.

Lord Hightower turned and faced the messenger, who had originally informed them of the invasion and asked "What are the numbers of the Dornish Army?"

"Going by the initial reports, they number unto 40,000!" the messenger reported curtly, as the room stilled upon hearing the man's words.

"Ngh! Forty Thousand! That must be a joke! There is no possible way for them to field an army that strong!" Lord Rowan Shouted in anger, with a tiny hint of fear lacing his tone.

"Yes! The Dornish lost most of their strength and their leaders at the battle of the Trident! It is impossible for them to field an army this strong!" exclaimed Lord Cuy, while nervous mutterings could be heard through the room.

"Are they making their way towards the Mander?" Lord Hightower continued to ask in a calm tone, even as the messenger, a man of House Appleton, shook his head.

"No, My Lord, they are staying put at Starpike the last I knew. I raced ahead to warn Lord Tyrell of this threat, while my companion stayed behind to gather more information. He should arrive soon," the man shook his head, and by sheer coincidence, the doors of the chamber swung open, and another man in the livery of House Appleton barged in, his face flushed and his hair matted with sweat.

 **"Reporting! The Army of Dorne has not yet moved from Starpike. They have now started to build defensive fortifications around the area. All the members of House Peake have been executed, and the commander of the Dornish army has taken over Starpike Castle!"**

 **"WHAT!"**

" **THIS IS AN OUTRAGE!"**

" **CURSE THAT DAMNED RED VIPER!"** roared Mace Tyrell even as various other lords started to shout in anger, **"I am going to…"**

" _You are_ _going to do nothing,"_ a curt voice interrupted him and all others inadvertently, as Lady Olenna Tyrell, Lady Dowager of Highgarden, and the mother of Mace Tyrell interjected as she walked inside the chamber, as the rest of the Lords bowed in greeting to her.

"Mother, what brings you here?" Mace asked in a strained tone, even as Olenna gave him a wan smile and seated herself on an empty chair at the end of the table.

"When I heard that Dorne had invaded us, I was actually surprised. I thought that it must have been a mistake, but now, I see that things are indeed different," she concluded, while Mace winced in dismay at having miserably failed to hide this bit of information from his mother.

"Yes, my lady," Lord Leyton opined, "a most curious turn of events. But then again, knowing the rashness of Oberyn Martell, it is not surprising in the least."

"I agree. That boy always thought with his heart and with his cock, not with his head. Always a bad combination for a prince of a ruling house," Olenna chuckled, while Mace frowned. "Really mother, must you use such a crude tone?"

Olenna glared at Mace, who deflated like a flat balloon, and shuffled awkwardly. "Really Mace, it is not as bad as it sounds. So, the boy is angry at what happened to his sister and her children. A nasty business that, Tywin has only grown more ruthless with age. But still, this was an action that was within the realm of our expectations; we expected Dorne to make a move of some sort after all. However, that does not excuse the fact that they have put a house sworn to our banner to the sword. This now gives us a legitimate reason to go after them."

"Of course, it does! Did you think I would let this slide?" Mace spoke indignantly, while Olenna shook her head at the naiveté of the men in the room.

"You are all thinking of this in terms of war. Look at the benefits, this can bring us, if we play this right," she advised, even as she took a sip of wine, from a goblet while all the assembled lords, looked at her in surprise as they took their seats around the table as the old woman advised them all.

"As of now," she continued, "the power balance in Westeros is effectively broken. The Targaryen's are done for. Robert Baratheon will become King of Westeros, that is given. House Stark, House Tully, & House Arryn stand to gain the most out of this affair. Jon Arryn is like a father to Robert, and is most likely to be the Hand of the King. Unofficially, he already is, even though Robert cannot crown himself King yet. Eddard Stark is more of a brother to him than his own brothers are, and Hoster Tully has secured himself by marrying his daughters to both those men, and has Robert's goodwill on the other hand for joining him in rebellion at the very beginning stages itself. There was a reason why Tywin went to the lengths that he did. He needed to do something extremely outrageous in order to get on the Rebellion's good side; and as a result, King's Landing paid the price, more specifically Aerys and his family did. That this action allowed him to gain favor with Robert and also gave him the chance to avenge himself against Aerys for all the slights that the Mad King had heaped upon him, makes this a win-win situation for him," she concluded, while the leaders of the Reach silently absorbed her words.

"And us, on the other hand?" Ser Baelor asked quietly, while Olenna gave him an appreciative nod and continued. _A sensible boy that one, unlike my own._

"We on the other hand, fought for the mad king, no, more specifically, for Rhaegar Targaryen. We had hoped that in aid for our services during the war, the Targaryen's would finally see our worth and we would have our rightful place in the capital. But then, the rebellion revealed the true caliber of the opponents we faced, and you all know what has happened since then," she concluded grimly, while the lords of the Reach collectively shuddered as though they had experienced a severe chill.

The rebellion against House Targaryen had shown a level of warfare never before seen in Westeros in thousands of years. A war which had revealed to the world the talents of three extraordinary generals, Robert Baratheon and Eddard Stark, who had been equally matched by Crown Prince Rhaegar Targaryen. Battles were fought with increasingly complex strategies, tactics, and formations never before seen in Westeros, and were employed in equal measure by both sides. Enough to make even the free cities of Essos who were generally uninterested in the affairs of Westeros take notice.

However, while Rhaegar Targaryen proved equal to Robert Baratheon and Eddard Stark when it came to planning and strategy, the same could not be said of physical prowess. In that regard, Robert Baratheon had proven himself unmatched, much to Rhaegar's fatal miscalculation. With the death of Rhaegar Targaryen, House Targaryen lost its greatest general, and soon fell, while the remnants of House Targaryen, that which remained after the sack of Kings Landing were in the process of fleeing to Essos in obscurity. In a way, it was most fortunate that the Reach had not tangled fully with the Rebellion.

Although Randyll Tarly had forced Robert away at the battle of Ashford, it was not a true victory as Robert did not have enough forces on hand to properly battle them at that time. Although, that had not stopped Mace from claiming that he had beaten a great general like Robert Baratheon. They, Olenna repeated to herself were the fortunate ones. Perhaps, the rumors of Mace's boasts had reached Robert, because true to his family words, at his next battle, he fell upon Jon Connington in the battle of the Bells like a thunderbolt, and wiped out the loyalist forces at that battle with a fury that had not been seen before. In a way, the siege of Storm's end had insulated the core armies of the Reach from having to tangle with the generals of the Rebellion, which apart from Robert Baratheon and Eddard Stark, also boasted of stalwart names like Brynden Tully and 'Bronze' Yohn Royce. Olenna seriously doubted if Randyll Tarly could prevail against the two wards of Jon Arryn, if both sides had equal numbers on hands. She did not even want to think of what could have happened. She had enough nightmares to last a lifetime already.

"Now, we are faced with a situation where Oberyn Martell and the armies of Dorne, are facing off against the combined armies of the Stormlands, the North, the Riverlands, the Vale and the West. Oberyn Martell may be a fine warrior, but it is folly to assume that he can prevail single handedly against the likes of men like Robert Baratheon, Eddard Stark, Brynden Tully and Yohn Royce. If there are worse odds than this in a stake, I have yet to see them. Now with their actions against House Peake, they have given even us a chance to get into the good graces of the new regime. If we subdue them, and make them surrender, I believe the new king could be made to overlook the fact that we were forced to besiege his birth home, and retain all our lands and titles, and emerge from this fiasco unscathed," she chuckled, while some of the lords laughed.

"Indeed," Lord Rowan concurred, "the correlation of forces is in the adverse to the extreme. The combined might of those five armies, numbers unto 200,000! If we add our forces into the mix, that rises up to 300,000. This is a suicidal gambit. They cannot win!"

" _Not quite, my lords, my lady,_ " the meek voice of the second messenger cut into the room, and everyone turned to look at the man, who seemed unusually apprehensive.

"Hmm… there is more to your report then?" Lord Tyrell inquired with a booming voice as he gazed squarely upon the messenger as the man shifted nervously and nodded.

"First of all, My Lords, My Lady, Prince Oberyn Martell does not command the Dornish Army," he finished quietly, and at the same time, every single person in the room became still as the shocking words reverberated throughout the chamber.

"Messenger, repeat that one more time," Lord Hightower commanded with a terse tone, as the man repeated again, "Prince Oberyn Martell does not command the Dornish Army, My Lords!"

" **That is outrageous!"**

" **The full might of Dorne is at last revealed and its greatest general is not in command! It makes no sense!"**

Much chatter and hubbub ensued and Olenna banged her goblet on her table to gain the attention of everyone and to silence the room.

"Who commands the army?" Ser Baelor asked quietly as everyone leaned forward to hear the answer.

"Young Prince Quentyn Martell, the heir of Dorne," was the curt reply.

There were looks of stunned unflattering disbelief upon the faces of everyone, the most prominent being Olenna herself.

"A boy of fourteen! Myriah Martell has staked the existence of her house and her kingdom upon the shoulders of a fourteen-year-old boy?" Lord Rowan asked in a hoarse whisper, as the information sunk in.

"They are out of their minds, after all! This confirms it beyond a doubt!" Lord Cuy exclaimed and began to speak, when a loud commotion was heard outside the doors interrupting them all.

Suddenly, the doors of the chamber were flung open and the maester of Highgarden, maester Lomys rushed in with a troubled look.

"My Lord, Urgent news from Kings Landing! Dire words!" the man was nearly out of breath as every man jumped to his feet in alarm upon seeing the almost crazed look upon the old Maester's face.

"Calm yourself maester! Catch your breath! What is it?" Mace asked with a steely tone, surprising everyone present with the change in his demeanor.

"Lords Hoster Tully and Varys have sent word! The Ironborn have moved at last! The Ironborn have attacked Lannisport, White Harbor & Seagard. Lord Varys states that only the North was able to fend off the attacks, but the Westerlands and Riverlands have been hard hit. In response to this threat, Lords Hoster Tully and Tywin Lannister have begun the process of sending their respective armies back to their lands. Furthermore, Lord Varys and Grand Maester Pycelle have advised us to have the Redwyne fleet on the ready to repel any attacks on the Shield Islands and the Arbor as well," the man concluded in a grim tone.

Then all hell broke loose.

" _Send Ravens immediately to all the lands bordering on the sea side! Warn them of possible Ironborn raids!_ " shouted Lord Rowan, as a few pages ran out to obey his commands.

" _Bring out the maps of the Shield Islands and the surrounding areas! Get an update on the positions of every single military unit in that area! We need to form a new defensive line! Send a runner to Lord Tarly and the army returning from Storm's End! We must make them re-route into the Arbor to deal with this threat,_ " Lord Cuy barked out another order as one more aide rushed out to follow the commands.

"Damn it! Why did the Ironborn chose to attack now of all times? If we send our troops to stop them, then we will be defenseless against the Dornish Army!" Lord Ashford bit out in anger gnashing his teeth, as he punched the nearest wall in frustration.

"This is not a coincidence," old Lord Hightower spoke out in a quiet tone as everyone turned to look at him in surprise.

"I agree. The Dornish and the Ironborn are working together," his son Baelor, muttered as he too looked at the map intensely.

"No doubt. That is the conclusion I came to as well," Olenna spoke up, unexpectedly serious, with all levity disappearing from her face.

"Consider the situation, My Lords," Lord Hightower, the oldest man in the room, who was also the most experienced general in the room and second only to Randyll Tarly in such matters within the Reach, spoke out and everybody began to pay attention to his words.

"It seems that our calculations about the fate that would befall Dorne is now premature. With the Ironborn Raids, the army of Westerlands and the Riverlands are now without a doubt racing back to their homes. Out of the estimated strength of 200,000 men the new kingdom of House Baratheon can reasonably expect; these two lands contribute nearly 70,000 men. So, the Rebellion's total strength is reduced even before a battle can begin by more than a third. Now, that leaves only the armies of the Stormlands, the North and the Vale. Of them, the army of Stormlands will again have to be split further to protect their core interests. Before the rebellion, they could field 40,000 men. Of them, after accounting for all the dead and wounded, we can practically expect them to now field only 25,000 men. And those 25,000 men will again be further divided each to reinforce the Stormlands that are recovering from our siege, and to cover the Crownlands that have been gutted. If there is no military presence in the Crownlands, there is a risk of remaining Targaryen loyalist's rising up, or the lands descending into general anarchy and banditry, neither of which is an option for the Baratheon rebellion. These two actions will require ten to fifteen thousand men each at the least. Which leaves Robert Baratheon, with only a core army of 10,000 men who are already battle worn. Similarly, the armies of the North and the Vale, the two remaining armies within the coalition of the rebellion also cannot be counted upon to commit their full strength in a battle with Dorne, as they too are battle worn. We can reasonably expect those two armies to commit only two thirds of their forces and not their full strength," the old Lord concluded grimly as he removed the corresponding number of wooden figurines depicting military units from the map of Westeros and rearranged them according to the new realities.

As the words of the old Lord sunk in, the pallor of the Lords of the Reach changed as the situation began to appear bleaker by the minute.

"How did the lands attacked by the Ironborn fare? Is there any news on that?" Ser Baelor asked Maester Lomys, who looked at the parchment in his hands and nodded.

"Yes, My Lord. Apparently Lannisport and Seagard are hit very badly. Only the Northmen managed to beat off the assault, though they seem to have suffered some casualties in that effort. Apparently, Lord Eddard Stark had made preparations for such an eventuality even before the Northern Army descended south to join the rebellion," the maester concluded.

"Figures, a general such as Eddard Stark would not be left unprepared for any eventuality. And the Stormlands are surrounded by the most turbulent seas in the world. Even the Ironborn dare not venture there," Lord Rowan opined, as heads nodded everywhere.

"So, that leaves only the diminished armies of the Stormlands, the North and the Vale, roughly about a hundred thousand men, give or take a few thousand, all of whom are battle worn, and tired against a fresh army of 40,000 men in their own lands, which gives them a lopsided advantage. When battling against an army in a desert, military theory and practice dictates that the correlation of forces must be at least three times more on the side of the invading force to stand a chance of victory. With a single alliance with the Ironborn, the Dornish have now rendered that null and void," Lord Ashford concluded, as a restless air permeated through the room.

"With this threat of the free reaving Ironborn behind us, even we cannot fully commit to the field, which removes us from the contention partially. At the very least, we have been prevented from wielding our full might, as we are now forced to keep some of our forces in reserve, for fear of Ironborn raids," Ser Baelor concluded, as the lords of the Reach now finally realized the gravity of the situation.

"This kind of strategy is not something one can expect from the likes of Oberyn Martell, he is not capable of thinking such far reaching plays," Lord Leyton concluded definitively as everyone's eyes widened.

"The only other person in Dorne with this kind of intelligence that comes to mind is Doran Martell, but he is long dead," Lord Cuy retorted as Olenna's eyes widened in recognition.

"His Son! The boy!" she gasped in shock as her eyes widened, as everyone turned to look at her in incredulity.

"Preposterous! Mother, you are going senile! Are you suggesting that a mere boy of fourteen years is capable of orchestrating all this? That cannot be," Mace waved of his mother's concern as she whirled on him.

"Then explain to me why it is that boy that leads the Dornish Army and not his uncle?" the old woman snarled at her oaf of a son, cursing him for his short-sightedness and arrogance. Her words were like a thunderous slap which jolted awake all of the Lords of the Reach, who began to consider the possibility that young Quentyn Martell was indeed the brains behind this ingenious Dornish ploy.

"If it is true, then the situation is frightening beyond compare. If the boy is indeed responsible for all the events that have occurred, then this places the sequence of events that have occurred in a new light. The Dornish could never have hoped to win a war against a guaranteed force of 200,000 men, added with the forces of the Reach waiting in the sidelines," old Lord Hightower began as he began to pace around.

"To cause the appearance of a potential threat behind the backs of the rebel coalition, that was his real goal all along. It's true that compared to before, waging a war in which you are uncertain of there being an enemy behind you or not, is like the difference between the sky and the earth. With the forces of five kingdoms dedicated to the war against Dorne, the sudden emergence of an unknown threat near their weakened borders will cause them to worry. If the war drags out, which it will, simply due to the fact that it will be fought in a desert, it is clear that the rebellion's morale will start to drop. If the boy is indeed in charge of the Army of Dorne, and has engineered this threat, then he has checkmated the board, with only one move."

No one moved, no one spoke, no one dared to even whisper, as they listened spell bound as the old Lord of House Hightower laid bare the machinations of their ancient enemy.

"I only met the boy once, when we had gone to pay our respects at Doran Martell's funeral. At that time, the only impression I had of the boy was that he was a shy child, prone to silence, and one who preferred to hide behind books, and liked to stay in the shadows. But it is very well possible that a truly terrifying Martell prince molded in the likes of the ancient Rhoynar Kings of old has been born again. But for a fourteen-year-old boy to have arranged all this, one who hasn't even come of age, no less…if that is the case, then we must destroy the Dornish here and now! We cannot let a threat of that caliber mature and come into his own," Olenna whirled around, her mind whirling with various possibilities, even as others came to terms with the fact that a fourteen-year-old boy had indeed played all of westeros like a fiddle.

"But, what could have forced the boy to take the field like this in such a blatant and grandiose manner? If it is truly him that is in charge of the Dornish military strategy, he is a frightening opponent indeed. To think that a mere boy of fourteen years could do all this …" Lord Rowan mused, his tone now laced with grudging respect as opposed to the ridicule before.

"If you have been checkmated, the only option left is to smash the board," Ser Baelor retorted as Lord Rowan's eyes widened at that, even as the other Lords considered that bit of advice. "The boy is aiming to secure Dorne from any military threats permanently. Which is why, they have moved to secure the marches and Starpike. Once they are firmly entrenched in that area, Dorne will be for all purposes unassailable. Not even with Aegon the conqueror's dragons will we be able to subdue them, much less dislodge them," the young knight concluded his analysis, even as his voice was laced with wonder as he finally divined the true strategy of their enemies. All the various Lords began to exclaim out in worried tones; indeed the morale in the room seemed to be dropping by the second. Then, the Lady Dowager of the Reach haughtily walked towards the map and callously knocked the military pieces denoting the Dornish forces down in an unusual show of bravado. She then turned to face her fellow countrymen, who seemed unusually downcast.

"Bah, I agree that the boy may be talented, if it is indeed him, that has engineered all this; but strategy can only take you so far," Olenna retorted with her customary flair, confidence back in her voice as she pointed to the map.

"I repeat myself. Strategy can only take you so far. Rhaegar was as good as Robert Baratheon or Eddard Stark, or even Brynden Tully or Yohn Royce at making plans and strategizing. But without strength of arms to back up your strategy, what use is it? The boy may make a good plan, but can he enforce it? Who amongst the Dornish can stand against Robert Baratheon's War-hammer? There is not a warrior present in Westeros who can! The boy may scheme and strategize as well as all the great generals of the rebellion, but without a strong arm backing his strategies he is doomed to fail. Not even his uncle, the famed Red Viper is a match for the Stag King," she concluded, as some of the Lords began to guardedly nod in response, and began to regain hope.

" _No, you are wrong my lady;_ there is one man still present in Dorne who can win in a contest of arms against even Robert Baratheon. Indeed, it could be said that one of the reasons why Robert won at the battle of the Trident was because this man was not present at that particular battle. If he was present, then there was a very real chance of Robert perishing, and Rhaegar prevailing. But now, with Rhaegar dead, that man will return to the battlefield, eager to avenge his closest friend's death. We cannot presume anything," Ser Ashford retorted, and his words cut through everyone like a hot knife through butter.

"And who would this man be, Lord Ashford?" Mace Tyrell growled, while Olenna glared at him with irritation rife in her eyes.

However, Lord Ashford's next words, made everyone stop cold in their tracks, rooted at their spots, and made the very blood in their veins freeze for a second in fear.

 _"Arthur Dayne, the Sword of the Morning."_

Suddenly, Olenna Tyrell did not feel as sure of herself as she was a few moments ago.

In the heat of the moment, none of them even bothered to remember the fact that at the very moment Jon Arryn was going into Dorne, to meet with the ruling Princess of Dorne, Lady Myriah Martell, and the effect that meeting would have on Westeros as a whole and its possible ramifications towards them. All of them were too caught up in the moment to even care or realize it. If they had, and had taken pre-emptive actions immediately, it would have saved them a lot of grief later.

* * *

 **Author's note:**

 **HAPPY NEW YEAR EVERYONE!**

Well, Highgarden is done. Next is Kings Landing and Dorne, and after that, WAR!

Look forward to it.

Teaser: _"Do not try to talk to me of what Tywin Lannister is capable or not capable of, Lord Arryn. I know it quite well. After all, the man whored out his own wife to Aerys Targaryen to gain the position of Hand of the King! I am well aware of what depths that loathsome whore-monger can sink to, to gain what he wants!"_


	5. Interlude: Time line

**Time line of Events (AC denotes after Aegon's conquest):**

268 AC: 7 years after the Reyne-Tarbeck rebellion, Prince Quentyn Martell (Reincarnation of Great General Riboku of the warring states period of ancient China) is born to Doran and Mellario of House Martell, in the Kingdom of Dorne in Westeros.

271 AC: Mellario Martell dies in childbirth, along with her newborn second child.

275 AC: Doran Martell dies of prolonged illness, making 7-year-old Quentyn the heir to the throne of Dorne.

276 AC: Birth of Prince Viserys Targaryen.

277 AC: The defiance of Duskendale. King Aerys Targaryen is briefly captured by rebels. The period of captivity begins the mental decline of the king.

280 AC: Crown prince Rhaegar Targaryen marries princess Elia Martell, sister of Doran and Oberyn Martell, aunt and foster-mother of Prince Quentyn Martell.

281 AC: Relation between King Aerys Targaryen, and his second-in-command, Tywin Lannister, the hand of the king, is irreparably broken, when Aerys Targaryen compels Jaime Lannister, the son of Tywin to join the famed Kingsguard, thereby depriving Tywin of his prized son and heir. At the same time, at the tourney of Harrenhal, Rhaegar Targaryen enamored by Lyanna Stark of Winterfell, honors her in the tourney and publicly humiliates his wife by consequence.

282 AC (First Half): Westeros reels with the abduction of Lyanna Stark by Crown Prince Rhaegar Targaryen. In reality, the both of them elope, but the world is unaware of the truth. Lyanna Stark's brother Brandon comes to Kings Landing to demand King Aerys to bring his son to heel and to have his sister returned, but the mad king imprisons him instead. His father, Lord Rickard Stark, Lord of the north, comes south to parlay with the King, but he is also captured and executed along with his son, leaving his second son Eddard Stark as the new lord of the North.

282 AC (Later half): Incensed by the defiance shown by Brandon and Rickard Stark, a paranoid and mentally unstable Aerys Targaryen, demands the heads of Robert Baratheon and Eddard Stark from Jon Arryn, the warden of the east and Lord of the Vale. Jon Arryn declines and rises in rebellion instead and is joined by his wards. As Robert is kin to the Targaryen bloodline, Robert Baratheon is proclaimed as the new claimant of the Iron Throne. The rebellion begins in earnest when Hoster Tully, Lord of the Riverlands, joins the rebels, after securing the marriages of both his daughters to Jon Arryn and Eddard Stark.

283 AC (First Half): House Tyrell remains loyal to the Iron Throne and besieges Storm's End, the home of Robert Baratheon with its full strength. Storm's End is defended by his younger brother Stannis Baratheon, who displays exemplary martial skill in withstanding a siege and rampant starvation tactics of the enemy for over a year while battles rage across the continent. On the other fronts, Robert Baratheon and Eddard Stark, along with Rhaegar Targaryen prove themselves as generals of great skills, and battles are fought with great ferocity over the lands. Slowly, the armies of both sides make their way towards the Trident river. During the course of the march, Robert is forced to take a longer route after being denied passage by Randyll Tarly at the battle of Ashford, who takes over the Kingsroad. Robert compensates for this by defeating the hand of the king Jon Connington at the Battle of the bells decisively. Jon Connington is stripped of his titles and banished across the seas by Aerys Targaryen in return for his failure.

# On the other side, Rhaegar Targaryen crushes the combined hosts of Jon Arryn and Hoster Tully as they make their way towards Kings Landing via Harrenhal. Only the timely arrival of Frey forces under Lord Walder Frey of the Twins, who acts as a rearguard allows both leaders to escape with their lives. Later on, Rhaegar's pursuit of the two lords is stopped after timely reinforcements from both Brynden Tully & Yohn Royce arrive in the nick of time to halt the passage of the Targaryen forces. Llewyn Martell and Barristan Selmy of the Kingsguard, then pull back their forces and allow the broken forces of the Riverlands and the Vale to retreat and regroup as they make their way to the Trident to join forces with Robert and Eddard. Likewise, the Royalist forces also make their way towards the Trident.

283 AC (Second Half): Both sides amass their forces for a final clash alongside the Trident River. Aerys Targaryen compels Dorne to further reinforce the royalists, by taking Elia and her children hostage. Myriah Martell complies by sending 10,000 soldiers more to the royalists. Likewise, the rebels also consolidate their forces. The battle begins as Rhaegar tries to flank his enemies by crossing the Ruby ford. Llewyn Martell and his countrymen lead a fierce charge and kill many of Jon Arryn's bannermen. However, the Vale lords are rallied back by Ser Lyn Corbray, who manages to slay a wounded Llewyn Martell, with his father's Valyrian sword, thereby breaking the morale of the Dornish, who suffer frightening number of casualties. On the other hand, Barristan Selmy kills many of the lords of the Riverlands in the fighting, and ends the bloodlines of at least five houses in the Riverlands, until he is so gravely wounded that he cannot fight anymore and is captured. Lord Jason Mallister leads a charge of the Riverlander's in retaliation, and wipes out three of Rhaegar's bannermen and ends the bloodlines of an equal number of houses in the Crownlands. By then, Rhaegar and Robert clash in a one-on-one duel. The duel rages for nearly an hour, and by then Robert prevails over a physically weaker Rhaegar, and kills him. The Royalists break upon the death of their general and try to retreat, only to find that their path has been blocked by the Northern Army under the command of Eddard Stark, who have turned back and enveloped the entire battle field. With no recourse, the royalists surrender. Jonothor Darry, the last of the Kingsguard at the battlefield, makes a last stand and single-handedly holds off an entire company of soldiers, allowing Rhaegar's aides to escape with his body, to prevent it from being desecrated by his enemies. Darry is slain in the effort, but before doing so, he kills at least a hundred enemies.

284 AC (First Half): All of Westeros is in shock after the events of the battle of the Trident are made known. A desperate Aerys summons the last remaining levies of the Crownlands and orders Kings Landing to prepare for a siege. He sends his pregnant wife Rhaella and his six-year-old son Viserys, to their ancient naval stronghold of Dragonstone. But he keeps Elia and her children with him as hostages to ensure Dorne's loyalty, despite repeated requests by both Elia and her mother to let them go. The rebels wait to recover from the battle before marching towards the capital. With no recourse and despite sage counsel warning against it, Aerys calls for aid from Tywin Lannister, his erstwhile friend. House Lannister is the only major house which has sat out of the war and its armies are completely fresh. Tywin reportedly agrees and marches with a force of 30,000 to Kings Landing. Upon arrival he notifies Aerys, who orders the gates be opened for Tywin and his army. Tywin and his army turn on the king instead, and begin sacking the city. Acts of unspeakable cruelty and depravity are inflicted upon the citizens of Kings Landing, and it is later estimated by the Maesters of the Citadel that nearly 100,000 innocent people are killed. During the melee, King Aerys Targaryen is murdered by his own Kingsguard Jaime Lannister who stabs the king in the back. Princess Elia Martell and her children are targeted by the Lannister's. Princess is Rhaenys is butchered by Ser Amory Lorch, while Young Prince Aegon, a newborn babe is horrendously killed by Ser Gregor Clegane, who then proceeds to rape Elia violently, and then kills her.

# The murder of Rhaegar's innocent wife and children coupled with the brutal sacking of Kings Landing shocks the whole world. Dorne is incensed, while the fearful Reach decides secretly to capitulate to the Rebellion. As the rebels arrive, they find the situation untenable and proceed to restore order. Tywin hands over control of the city to the rebels and accepts Robert as King. When the corpses of the royal family are presented, Robert laughs heartily and condones the actions of Tywin; while his allies are queasy at the fact, they grudgingly accept the necessity of the acts even though they privately feel that the executions were far too brutal. Eddard Stark makes his displeasure clear, but even he grudgingly accedes to the necessity of the deaths of the ruling family to ensure a complete transition from one ruling family to another. Robert is acknowledged as the winner of the rebellion, but he cannot publicly crown himself as king yet, as he still needs to subdue Dorne. Eddard Stark later departs to relieve Storms End and to continue the search for his sister Lyanna. In Sunspear, General Riboku aka Prince Quentyn learns of the fate of his foster-mother and her children and rises up in anger and vows to take revenge on Tywin Lannister.

284 AC (Second Half): Dorne is frothing at the insult heaped at its beloved princess. Young Prince Quentyn Martell takes charge of affairs and starts to take command. He investigates and learns the truth of Rhaegar and Lyanna's actions, and discovers Rhaegar's treachery of marrying Lyanna Stark in secret, and annulling his marriage with Elia Martell. Quentyn has the septon who married Rhaegar and Lyanna executed, and then orders the razing of the particular sept where the wedding took place, with added emphasis placed upon the silencing of any and all witnesses to the wedding.

# Three weeks after the sacking of Kings Landing, Myriah Martell summons all of the Lords of Dorne to Sunspear along with their levies. There, Myriah Martell announces her decision to appoint her 15-year-old grandson as the supreme commander of all of Dorne's armies, and the decision is protested loudly by many. Upon which, Quentyn makes an impassioned speech to the whole gathered nobility of Dorne, in a phenomenal display of oratory and charisma which leaves the listeners spellbound. The Lords of Dorne witness for the first time the enormous potential and the hidden skills of their prince and grudgingly accept the decision of the Princess of Dorne.

# But despite gaining the acknowledgment of the nobility, Quentyn realizes that their enemies still outnumber them by a ridiculous margin. So, he decides to rally the ordinary citizenry of Dorne to raise a fresh army. In a grand stage, upon the walls of Dorne's capital city, he has the entire population of Sunspear brought out, and flanked by his grandmother, the ruler of Dorne on the left , and by his uncle 'the red viper' on the right, along with all the lords of all the noble houses; he delivers a rousing speech to the entire population, which is later dubbed by the witnesses and the Maesters who chronicled it as a 'miracle of the ages'. The effect of the speech is so great, that when word of that speech spreads to the rest of Dorne, they are able to raise a host of 40,000 men, which is unprecedented in the existence of the Desert Kingdom. The Lords of Dorne finally realize that they are dealing with someone who actually can prevail against the likes of Robert Baratheon and Eddard Stark and withdraw their objections and agree to wholeheartedly support him in his endeavors. Due to extremely strict monitoring of communications throughout the kingdom imposed by Quentyn, the fact that Dorne was able to raise such an army, and knowledge of Quentyn's capabilities remain hidden from the rest of the world. At the same time, Oberyn Martell departs for Braavos.

# Meanwhile, Robert Baratheon decides to send Jon Arryn to Dorne to demand their surrender, and turns towards consolidating his immediate gains and begins the work of laying the foundations of his future kingdom. The houses of the Crownlands are punished severely for associating with House Targaryen. The said houses accept said indignities, as they are no longer in a position to protest, but the seeds of rebellion against Robert are already sown. Later, in a major embarrassment, Barristan Selmy spits on Robert's face in public in full court, when asked by Robert to serve him as the commander of his new Kingsguard. Barristan spits on his face, and declares that he had already served one tyrant albeit unwillingly and he will not willingly serve another, more so when it is a person who stands atop the butchered corpse of a child and rejoices in it. For his defiance, Barristan is thrown into the black cells, while a humiliated Robert retires back into the Keep. Only the intervention of Varys, Pycelle and Hoster Tully saves Barristan's life.

# At the same time, Quentyn takes his new army towards the Dornish Marches, and devises a brutal training and skill management system for the soldiers as well as the commanders. He completely restructures the army and its rank and file, and new formations and tactics are taught to the soldiers, who are put through a grueling training regime.

# Six weeks after Oberyn Martell's departure, the Ironborn begin to move. Quellon Greyjoy, the Lord of the Iron Islands unleashes his reavers upon an unsuspecting Westeros. However, having taken note of the events that have occurred for the past two years, he decides to be more careful, and preparations for the raids are made so secretly, that no one learns of them, until it is too late.

# Quellon personally leads the raid against Lannisport, the main city of the Westerlands, along with his heir Balon. He sends his second son Victarion to the Riverlands, and taking into account the capabilities shown by Eddard Stark, he sends his most talented son Euron, who is also the most brutal one amongst his sons, to the North. On the other side, Eddard Stark and his men reach Storms End, where Mace Tyrell formally surrenders and lifts the siege. The army of the Reach begins preparation to march back to Highgarden. Mace Tyrell leaves Randyll Tarly in command and makes his way back with haste to Highgarden to confer with his family and take stock of the situation.

# The Ironborn raids are a spectacular success. Quellon and Balon burn the fleet of Westerlands to ashes, and sack Lannisport. Ser Daven Lannister, Lord of Lannisport and cousin to Tywin Lannister is killed. Enormous wealth is looted by the Ironborn. Similarly, Victarion smashes Seagard and returns with an equally rich haul. On the other hand, Euron attacks White Harbor and encounters the Northern fleet commanded by Lord Wyman Manderly. The battle ends in a pyrrhic victory for the North as the Ironborn are repelled, with them not even being able to set foot on land. However, the Northern fleet is wrecked beyond repair, and Lord Wyman loses his right leg in battle against Euron. But he acquits himself well, as Euron Greyjoy loses his left eye in the battle and earns the nickname 'Crows-eye'. Though they return without any riches, the Ironborn are elated at having crushed their ancient enemies the Northmen in a pitched battle. Compared to what happened at the other places where the Ironborn made landfall, in later years, all observers agree that the Northmen were victorious, but at too great a cost. Eddard Stark however, is praised for his forethought of leaving a garrison behind to deal with potential threats as he is proven right by the Ironborn raid.

# The Ironborn raids come as a great shock to the already war-weary populace of Westeros. Panic sets in the streets of almost all cities and villages. Hoster Tully and Tywin Lannister immediately begin to make preparations to have their armies move back to their homelands. Meanwhile Quentyn's army finally finishes its preparations and sets out to the Dornish Marches. Jon Arryn enters the borders of Dorne on the same day that Quentyn sets out.

# In five days, the Dornish army makes astonishing speed and reaches Starpike, the home of House Peake, sworn bannermen of House Tyrell, and one of the oldest noble houses of the Reach. Starpike castle also possesses a legendary reputation as the gateway to the Reach, and boasts of having never fallen in battle. In the Peake Uprising, King Maekar I Targaryen himself had lost his life in the battle to subdue the castle (which had been taken only by starving its denizens after a long time). Quentyn takes down the castle which took an army of 100,000 nine months to subdue, _in less than half a day_ , shocking his subordinates into a horrified silence at the terrifying speed and brutality with which he accomplishes it. Quentyn then has the entirety of House Peake executed, along with all relatives and associates who may or may not have a claim over Starpike. This is done to ensure that there are no claimants left to claim Starpike, and so that it may be assimilated into Dorne without issues. After the executions, Quentyn begins to make massive fortifications to the already formidable castle. Meanwhile, Varys, the spy-master of Kings Landing receives word that Lyanna Stark has been killed by Ser Arthur Dayne, the sword of the morning, who has also killed his fellow Kingsguard as well as five of Eddard Stark's men, and that he has escaped.

# The taking of Starpike, and the revelation that fifteen-year-old Quentyn Martell has taken over the command of the Dornish army causes an upheaval in the Reach. It is speculated that the Dornish and the Ironborn may be working together as the Ironborn raids have conveniently drawn away majority of the forces of the rebellion away from Kings Landing, but it is not completely proven due to lack of evidence. Jon Arryn who has by then nearly reached Sunspear is warned by Yohn Royce, who races into Dorne to warn the old lord.

# Two weeks after the fall of Starpike, as the majority of the Reach Army of 50,000 is still making its way into the Reach from Storms End, and due to the fact that they will be required to guard against any Ironborn incursions, Mace Tyrell decides to raise a second levy of 30,000 and sends them with haste to seal the breach in the Reach's defenses made by the Dornish army. The new army is placed under the command of Lord Leyton Hightower, who with his son Baelor departs for the front. On the other side, Barristan Selmy breaks out of the black cells and makes his way towards Dorne, while from the other end of Dorne, Arthur Dayne does the same. Due to the commotion raised by the Ironborn raids, Barristan Selmy's escape goes unnoticed. Finally, after traveling for three months, Jon Arryn reaches Dorne's capital, Sunspear.

# The stage is now set.

* * *

 **Author's note:**

 **I had received quite a few notes and reviews from reviewers who had felt that the multiple viewpoints of the story offered a very disjointed view. I knew it would be so, and had prepared this time line interlude to consolidate the various viewpoints and have a look at it from the perspective of a third party to give a coherent picture of what was going on, all along. It was always my intention to have this chapter be present as an end to the lengthy prologue for the story. From now on, the story begins in earnest, and future chapters will be far more lengthier and meatier in content.**

 **You may notice that I have already mentioned a few events in the narration itself, when they have not yet been touched upon in the story, namely the speeches of Quentyn and the presence of Barristan Selmy, as well as the second army of the Reach. I assure you it was intentional and it will be addressed accordingly at the correct point in the story. You will see those events in all their glory, but the point where they are to be inserted in detail in the story has not arrived yet.**

 **Thanks,**

 **A.S.**


	6. Interlude II: Tywin

**The Red Keep**

* * *

As he made his way towards the chambers of the small council, Tywin Lannister, Lord Paramount of the Westerlands, Lord of Casterly Rock, Warden of the west and Shield of Lannisport, was busy in his thoughts pondering upon the fate of the seven kingdoms as of late. The Rebellion had emerged victorious, and the foundations of power that the Targaryen's had instilled for the last four hundred years in Westeros were now crumbling into dust, and he intended to do everything in his power to ensure that House Lannister had a say in defining the contours of the future; and for that it was necessary for him to ingratiate himself to the new king, however galling that concept might be to his pride.

Even he had been taken aback, observing from the sidelines as the fierce war had raged all around Westeros. To think that Rhaegar had been so capable as a general; the fool, for that was what he was, because as capable a general as he was, that idiot had no sense for the great game, and had foolishly squandered away his life and the fortunes of his family in a youthful fit of lust and brashness. If he had desired a new bride, all he had to do was say the word, and Tywin would have seen to it that his marriage with that Dornish chit would be abolished. He knew well what strings needed to be pulled so that the faith would give its assent to an annulment. With Cersei as his wife, and the full might of the West behind him, and Rhaegar's own martial talents notwithstanding, they would have been an unstoppable force.

To be fair, perhaps even Rhaegar had not accounted that his opposition would also contain generals of his caliber. That perhaps had been his greatest miscalculation. During the war, Rhaegar had no doubt proven himself a great general and tactician with both intellect and courage, even though he lacked prowess in the martial arts, and it was that weakness which had become his undoing in the end. Robert Baratheon and Eddard Stark had proven themselves as men who warranted the utmost of caution in dealing with.

He would not make the mistake of assuming that both were young, untested men, like the lords of Crownlands had done, much to their misfortune. It galled him to the core, but no matter what, no matter how furiously he raged against conceding the point that they were better than him at least in the art of waging war in his mind, he had to grudgingly accept that he was no match for either of the two young men. And it made it even more imperative that he ingratiate himself with the rebellion by any means necessary, to ensure that they would not focus their considerable martial skills against him.

Of the two leaders of the rebellion, each was a conundrum in his own right. For hundreds of years, the southerners had disparaged the north as a desolate and waste land, filled with uncivilized barbarians and louts with no manners, worthless of notice. Oh, how sorely was all of Westeros regretting that fact now! Eddard Stark and his armies had very thoroughly shattered the martial prestige of the entire southlands in the course of their war. Never again would the westerlands underestimate the north as long as he lived, and even beyond, this he swore. But that had brought its own course of problems. Even if he wished to ingratiate himself with the north, there was nothing that they shared with them. Their cultures were too radically different, and anything he could offer in material terms in a way to foster better relationships, be it wealth through trade or through marital alliances, the north already had them in abundance with their relationships with the Riverlands and the Vale. He had met Eddard Stark while the man was still in Kings Landing before he had departed to search for his sister, and the man had left a deep impression. Cold, stern, brilliant in the arts of war, and not a man he would want to cross, at least not without sufficient preparation beforehand. Had he known beforehand of the man's caliber, he would have offered Cersei herself in marriage to the man, and offered him the lands of Castamere itself as a dowry. As a second son, with far lesser prospects than his elder brother, even Rickard Stark would have accepted it, and he would have gained an extraordinarily capable pawn on hand in return. But it was a nonstarter, and now naught but a dream of what could have happened. Aerys and Rhaegar had seen to that, and now, in the twilight of his years, he had gained the most dangerous rival possible in the game of thrones.

Which is why, he had pinned most of his hopes on the Baratheon. Unlike Stark, Robert Baratheon was a southerner and was aware of the existence of the game of thrones. Like Eddard Stark, Robert Baratheon too had proven himself a great general, and had the distinction of being known as the most powerful warrior alive in Westeros currently. Where Eddard Stark was more of a strategical bent, even though he was no slouch as a warrior himself, and preferred to direct his battles from a distance; Robert Baratheon was the complete opposite and relied completely on his instincts to guide the flow of a battle, and was always in the thick of the battle, leading from the front. Their personalities were also the opposite of each other. Where Eddard was reserved, Robert was gregarious. Unlike Stark who abhorred taking risks, Baratheon would gamble heavily on his instincts and make risky plays, the fact that he was always proven right notwithstanding.

This was why, he had chosen to put all his hopes on his old friend's son. Robert was a man who wore his emotions on the sleeve, and thus there was the slightest chance of manipulating him through them, despite the revelation of his new abilities. In battle, Robert had displayed an overwhelming penchant for offense, and had shown a sort of brutish cunning in his tactics, but he was woefully unequipped to handle the politics of a court, which were of a far subtler nature. One that would soon vanish under the clever tutelage of Jon Arryn and Hoster Tully, which he was sure of. This made it even more imperative that he achieve his goals before the return of Stark.

He was close, so close to achieving his goals of seating someone with Lannister blood on the throne. Aerys and his family were gone. As was that worthless Dornish chit who had the audacity of dreaming of becoming queen by marrying Rhaegar. Cersei's tears after Aerys's rejection of his offer was not something that he had forgotten. To think that the most desirable maiden of the seven kingdoms had been swept aside for a worthless wench from a debauched and worthless house like the Martell's, had stung him hard. Even more galling was the implication that Aerys had sent out to the world by refusing him, that Dorne was worthier than the Westerlands. Fools, none were worthier than the Lannister's of Casterly Rock.

Still, he had already laid the foundations of the scheme to see his daughter seated on the throne. Already, septons under his pay were slowly despoiling the reputation of Lyanna Stark in low, hushed tones in the streets of the capital. There were whispers of her being soiled, of being unworthy of the title of queen. Even more damaging were the whispers of how she had wantonly run away with Rhaegar and that she was a harlot, impure and unworthy of the throne. It was slow, tedious work, and he gone to great pains to ensure that the rumor mongers were not associated with him or his house. It was his hope, that in time, the whispers would rise into a crescendo and force Robert to set aside the Stark girl, and bow to the will of the populace and choose a new queen, one who was pure, beautiful, worthy in all respects and was of impeccable lineage. A Lannister, to be more precise, Cersei Lannister. It would take time, but he was always patient. He had waited for twenty years to see his daughter seated as queen, he could wait a few more months.

But, if Robert was too stubborn in his affections for the northern girl, then he would have to resort to more direct means to have the girl removed from his daughter's path. But, he would have to be exceedingly careful in this task. The blunt methods he had used to get rid of the Dornish girl would not work here. Unlike the weak and worthless Martell's, Lyanna Stark's brother was literally capable of wiping out house Lannister completely if enraged. Oh, it would be a costly and bloody affair to be sure, greater in intensity than even the entire rebellion against House Targaryen, but he had no doubts that Eddard Stark would prevail and wipe out the Westerlands in retaliation. And if Robert were to learn of his involvement, hmm, best not to go there. This was a task that would require extreme precision and delicateness in handling. Perhaps the faceless men of Braavos would be of use there. Well, it was a thought to keep in mind. First, he would observe and see where the winds would blow, and then he would act as the situation warrants.

As he neared the doors of the small council chamber, he could hear a spirited discussion going on. It looked like it was going to be another stormy session then. Some things never changed.

* * *

 **Author's note:** A brief but insightful peek into the mind of Tywin Lannister. I hope I have done it justice. The next chapter will contain the small council meeting, and it will be one that will set the tone for this entire arc of the story. As the main antagonist for this arc, I thought it was necessary for everyone to see how the mind the most powerful lord paramount in Westeros worked. Well, once he starts facing off against Quentyn, you can imagine how his thoughts will change. But that will be for future chapters.


	7. Interlude III: Lord Yronwood

**Sunspear, the capital of Dorne, 5 months after the sack of Kings Landing**

As he made his way towards the palace to attend the gathering, Lord Anders Yronwood, Lord and head of House Yronwood, Warden of the Stoneway, paused to look at the outskirts of the city walls where a sprawling complex of tents, more loosely resembling a city had sprung up over the course of the last few weeks. He could hear the sounds of a thousand blacksmiths toiling away, the clashing sounds of hammers and anvils, the sizzling sound of hard forged steel being dipped in water, the smoke rising from a thousand forges rising into the sky majestically. It was a magnificent sight.

The last few weeks had been a veritable storm of events one after the other, and he had nearly allowed himself to be swept away in a euphoric daze by the tide of events that had occurred after Prince Quentyn's majestic speech a few weeks prior.

The young heir of Dorne had been an enigma in the mind of the formidable lord, ever since 'the speech', as the people of Sunspear had taken to calling the event. He chuckled, perhaps, just perhaps, this young man might be the one who could cast of the shackles imposed upon them by the cursed Targaryen's.

"Never would I have believed that a few words could rouse the spirit of an entire kingdom, but it seems even I can be proven wrong," he chuckled, as he made his way forward. His son Cletus, who had been following dutifully behind him asked, "What do you think Jon Arryn will make of the sprawling complex outside the walls?"

"It will unsettle him no doubt, which was the purpose for which it was set up by the young prince. When he sees a thousand blacksmiths, toiling day and night to forge weapons for the army of Dorne, he will learn that the men of Dorne are not to be trifled with, and that we are not scared of his wards," his father grunted.

"And If he fails to learn?"

"He will be made to," was the curt reply of his father, and that was the end of it.

Soon, the both of them made their way to the main council halls of the palace and noticed that most of the leadership of Dorne was present. House Allyrion, House Blackmont, House Dayne, House Fowler, House Gargalen, House Jordayne, House Manwoody, House Uller, House Wyll, and even more. The full majesty of Dorne was present in force. Jon Arryn would not have an easy day today, he chuckled in mirth, even as Lady Myriah, and Prince Oberyn approached and gestured to all the lords to take their place.

As he moved to his assigned seat, he could not help but remember the scene when 3 months ago, it was at this very place that Prince Quentyn had spoken to this assembly and had laid the foundations of changing Dorne forever.

* * *

 **3 months ago**

 _He had ridden as fast as he could, once the raven had been received. Regardless of the history between their houses, House Yronwood would stay by the side of their liege lords in this_ _ **time of crisis**_ _. What had happened to Princess Elia and her children were nothing short of a slap to the faces of every man, woman and child of Dorne. Would perhaps Dorne finally mobilize its full strength? He certainly hoped so, this was not an insult that could be easily cast aside._

 _Soon, they approached Sunspear, and reached the entrance of the Water Gardens. It would seem that their arrival was expected. Stewards immediately came forward to collect their horses, and also offered them refreshments even as they were guided to the council chambers. Once they entered, he noticed that almost every single lord in Dorne had been summoned. He noticed Princess Myriah, deep in discussion with her son, Prince Oberyn, while young Prince Quentyn was calmly observing the situation from the sidelines._

 _Soon, once the last visitor was seated, the doors to the chamber were shut, as Lady Myriah descended to the middle of the chambers and turned to address the assembled lords._

" _My name is Myriah Martell, reigning princess of Dorne," the old, dignified ruler of the Dornish Kingdom spoke in a soft tone, even as she looked at them all, and spoke with a heavy tone, even as she tried to control her emotions. "And yet today, I stand here before all of you, not as your ruler, but as a mother, to honor her murdered daughter, and to honor her murdered grandchildren, publicly and for the last time," her voice choked with emotion even as tears glistened at the end of her eyes. The assembled men of Dorne, looked at her with trepidation, and many of them could not muster the courage to look her in the eye, much to their shame._

" _My daughter was a good woman. She gave no thought to her own well-being. Only to the well-being of others. Dorne was her first and greatest love. Yet despite that, she endured more than any woman could have ever dared to bear. Married to a prince who humiliated her, shamed her in front of the world, shamed her children, and cast her away for a northern harlot. Kept imprisoned by a mad king, who cared not for her, and yet she never complained. And then, she was butchered by the lapdogs of that whoreson Tywin Lannister. Alone, trapped by enemies on all sides, betrayed by everyone, she suffered in ways that no woman should suffer. I ask of all you brave men, is this what is now meant to be the fate of the women of Dorne? Tywin Lannister did all this, because in his eyes, we are worth less than the dirt that lies beneath his feet. Mongrels, he calls us, whoremongers and debauched weaklings he terms us, and he says this because he believes Dorne does not have the strength to chastise him. I ask you men, is he right?" she asked in a whisper as she looked at all the assembled men, who were clenching their fists, their faces red with anger, with their eyes bloodshot as she looked at them._

" _Today it is my daughter, tomorrow it could be yours. Today, I ask of all of you, by all that you hold good and dear to honor your oaths to House Martell, to stand with us. Summon your banners, summon all the men of Dorne, to avenge the deaths of not just my daughter and her children, but for all your countrymen who died at the trident for the whims of a madman. Now, I ask you, who stands with me?"_

 _Lord Yronwood stood up, his passion inflamed as he looked at the elderly ruler of his kingdom, "House Yronwood will stand with you!" he declared as he stood up and bowed his head in agreement._

 _Then it was as if the floodgates of a dam had been burst open, as one after the other, the lords stood up and proclaimed their assent._

" _House Dayne agrees!"_

" _House Uller stands with you!"_

" _So does House Fowler!"_

" _As does House Gargalen!"_

" _House Wyl will answer!"_

 _Soon, the entirety of the lords was up on their feet, proclaiming their oaths and their assent, at which Lady Myriah raised her hands, and soon all became silent again._

" _So be it, my lords, I thank you from the bottom of my heart. Maester," she intoned as she turned to look at the maester of Sunspear who was standing at the side, "Send out the ravens!"_

 _The maester nodded and moved out of the hall. That night, the skies above Dorne were covered with dark wings carrying dark words, with the intent of mustering the full might of Dorne._

 _Lord Yronwood stood up, "My lady, we all grieve with you, but still, we must not let ourselves be carried away by emotion alone. We will call our banners, but how are we to proceed? Robert Baratheon will turn his attention to us soon enough, and with him comes Eddard Stark as well. What shall be our next move?" he asked, as Myriah nodded, as if she was expecting this question._

" _My lords, I have no doubts that once the Stag King consolidates his hold on the Crownlands, he will turn to subjugating us, as well as Dragonstone, where the last of the Targaryen's remain," she continued, as the lords of Dorne nodded, agreeing with her words._

" _Then, would you have us declare for Viserys Targaryen, my lady?" Lord Dayne asked of her, as the assembly became restless._

" _No," the tone of Myriah Martell was crisp and curt. "House Martell and by association, Dorne, will no longer swear allegiance to House Targaryen. We will not fight for a house that abused our trust, our loyalty and our allegiance and repaid it with treachery and ingratitude," she concluded, while many of the lords stiffened as the words of the princess of Dorne began to veer into uncharted territory._

" _Surely, you do not mean to submit to Robert Baratheon?" Lord Uller asked aghast, as he looked at her, at which Myriah's eyes became bloodshot even as she trembled in rage._

" _House Martell will never bow to a whoremongering butcher like Robert Baratheon. I have not forgotten that Robert stood over the corpses of my daughter and her children and laughed in satisfaction. I will not and cannot bow to such a man, one who is bereft of all honor and lacks all qualities required in a king," she concluded, while Anders Yronwood acknowledged it with a curt nod._

" _But that still does not answer our question, if we will not declare for Viserys Targaryen or for Robert Baratheon, then what are we supposed to do?"_

" _Dorne will revert back to being an independent kingdom as it was, before Daeron Targaryen shackled us to the Iron Throne through the bonds of marriage. We no longer bow to the Iron throne, nor do we recognize its authority," the cool voice of Quentyn Martell cut through the chamber with an icy clarity, as Lord Yronwood looked at the young prince with a dumbfounded look on his face, as did every single one of the assembled lords._

" _My prince!" Lord Trebor Jordayne, head of House Jordayne stood up, "what you speak of is something that all of us would cherish dearly, but one which is not possible. The rebels will not allow the Iron throne to fracture, their legitimacy depends upon it."_

" _And even though all of us are willing to lay our lives to avenge Princess Elia, the fact of the matter is we are outnumbered. We lack the strength to contest against them by force of arms," Lord Harmen Uller, head of house Uller spoke up as other lords began to nod to his words._

" _Aye, what we now need is a plan to deal with this situation," Lord Dayne nodded in assent, as all the lords began to voice their opinion._

" _We have a plan, my lords," Myriah announced, at which all the lords looked at her in surprise. The old ruler of Dorne continued as she looked at them all, "What we need is time, time that we will trick the Rebellion into giving to us. It will take at least two months for Robert Baratheon to consolidate his hold on the Crownlands, after which, he will send most likely either Jon Arryn or Hoster Tully to negotiate with us. Which will again take them another two months. All in all, it will take at least four to five months before a representative of the new regime appears before us. We will make use of that time to secure ourselves and our independence," she finished, while all the lords were looking at her with a surprise, and in some cases, calculative look on their faces._

" _Please explain the plan in detail, my lady," Lord Dayne replied, as Myriah began to pace around._

" _We will lull the Rebellion into a false sense of security," she replied, "firstly, our army comprised off all the banners, shall march through the prince's pass, and take over Starpike castle. I cannot emphasize this enough. If we have this castle, we can permanently blockade one of the two major entrances by land to Dorne, and no army, no matter how strong can pass into Dorne. So, that is what we will do. To prevent the Rebellion from guessing our true motive, we will have all of you remain here in Sunspear and send out the entire army under a commander who no one will expect. That commander will make his way through the pass and take Starpike, while we will await the emissary from Kings Landing."_

" _And who will this commander be?" Lord Harmen Uller asked her as the eyes of all the lords looked at their liege, with apprehension._

" _That would be me," Quentyn replied in a soft tone, while all the lords looked at him in surprise and in some cases, outright shock._

" _My prince! This is not a time for japes! You are the only heir of the main line of House Martell! It is unconscionable to even think of risking you in such a manner!" Lord Dayne protested with an almost desperate tone as most of the lords looked at him in surprise._

" _I thank you for your kind words, Lord Dayne, but, I assure you, I do not make this suggestion lightly," Quentyn replied after giving a curt nod to the old lord._

" _As my grandmother has said, we must lull the Rebellion into a sense of false security, and we must move quickly. We must send the army under the command of someone they will never expect and at the same time, one they will not consider a threat. Sending one of you fine lords present here might be construed as a threat by the Rebellion but sending the might of Dorne under the command of a young, untested boy like me will make them think twice. They will underestimate us, because they will think me a green boy, who is only playing at being a general, and as one who has no idea of what he is doing. It is within our best interests to let them believe in that charade for as long as possible, for that will give us the time to reorganize our armies, and to train them into an exacting standard, wherein they will be capable of standing up to even the famed armies of the North and the Stormlands."_

 _All the lords became silent as they gazed at the young prince, who seemed at ease with nary a concern on his face despite the dire situation their lands faced and began to feel apprehensive at the nonchalant way through which the young prince spoke of dealing with the Rebellion in such an assured manner._

" _My lady," Lord Yronwood addressed the princess of Dorne with an inscrutable look on his face, "Was it the young prince who advised you to aim for independence for the Iron throne?" he asked in a gruff voice even as he looked at his monarch._

" _Yes," was the firm and resolute reply._

 _Immediately, all the lords began to whisper and murmur amongst each other, and began to cast furtive looks at Quentyn while Lord Yronwood again spoke "And am I to assume that it was the young prince who came up with the strategy to deal with the Rebellion as well?"_

" _Yes," this time the reply came from Oberyn, who as usual smiled haughtily while standing at the side of his mother._

" _Then, may I ask the young prince as to what drove him to the decision of declaring for independence? And on how he intends to achieve it?"_

" _Because if we do not, then in twenty years, Dorne as we know it will disappear and be replaced by a mockery of it created by Tywin Lannister and his descendants," came the cool and curt reply of the heir of Dorne, which rocked all the lords back to their heels._

" _Make no mistake, my lords, Tywin Lannister has now set his sights firmly on us and the remnants of those who were once loyal to the Targaryen's. Above all else, he has desired to place his own bloodline on the Iron Throne. Twice, he tried to attempt it with Aerys. First, he offered his daughter to the accursed Rhaegar, in the hope that twenty years of his loyal service as hand of the king would be rewarded with a royal marriage, but he was rebuffed. Then, he attempted again by offering his daughter to Viserys, with an extravagant dowry, hoping that where loyalty and friendship failed to persuade Aerys, gold might do it instead. Again, he failed, and then he simply wiped out the remaining Targaryen's once the Rebellion defeated Rhaegar. The reason why he specifically targeted Rhaegar's family, and my aunt and her children in particular, was to ensure that there were no claimants remaining for the throne. He will not make the same mistake twice. If my guess is correct, he will ensure that Lyanna Stark is murdered, so that Robert Baratheon can marry his daughter Cersei."_

" _That is insane! Tywin is not foolish enough to earn the ire of one as dangerous as Eddard Stark! Hell, Robert would kill him himself if he even dares to think of touching that girl. The old lion is not nearly foolish enough to do something as risky as that," Lord Uller protested, while all the other lords voiced their own assent to the point raised by Lord Uller._

" _No, but the old lion is too crafty for that," Oberyn replied from the sidelines, "Our spies have reported that Gerion Lannister is on his way to Braavos, specifically to meet the house of black and white. You all can infer what that means," he concluded, while grim looks came upon the faces of all lords present in the hall._

" _The faceless men! He is going to hire them to kill Lyanna Stark, or that is what you suspect," Lord Fowler spoke with a harsh tone as Oberyn nodded. "There is no reason for Gerion Lannister to go to Braavos in such a perilous time, this is the most reasonable conclusion we can come to."_

" _So, you can see how the mind of the old lion works, my lords," Quentyn smoothly interjected, "Once Lyanna Stark is dead, he will offer his daughter to Robert, and then in twenty years, his grandchildren will be ready to inherit the Iron Throne. To ensure a lasting legacy for his family, he will turn his attention towards the remnants of the Loyalists to ensure that they pose no threat to his descendants. Already the Crownlands have been gutted by Robert Baratheon, who in his hatred for the followers of Rhaegar has nearly wiped out all the ruling houses of the Crownlands. They will slowly but surely, choke Dorne, by means of punitive taxes, by restricting trade and travel, and then slowly and surely, they will begin the process of replacing all the ruling houses of Dorne by creating new houses through promoting second and third sons of ruling houses in the Stormlands and Westerlands, men who have no prospects in their homelands to ensure that they remain loyal to the throne. By any pretext, be it of treachery or through outright murder, they will slowly but surely chip away Dorne's nobility piece by piece and replace it with those who are loyal to them. They cannot afford not to," Quentyn concluded with a grim tone, as all the lords of Dorne listened to those words with apprehension and a somber silence descended upon the hall._

" _It certainly seems very plausible," Lord Dayne agreed with a sigh._

" _Aye, the young prince is right," Lord Gargalen replied while slowly all the lords began to nod in agreement._

" _Even if we were to sue for peace, which we will not, they would never have accepted it. We would always be treated with suspicion and derisiveness and looked down by them. We would be treated as second-class citizens and slaves at worst. They would again turn on us as their own doubts and fears would not allow them to trust us in any case," Myriah Martell concluded as everyone nodded in assent._

" _So, how are we to proceed then?" Lord Yronwood asked Quentyn who began to pace around._

" _We will set out twenty days from now to the mountain ranges near Starpike and begin assembling and training our armies there; and we are fortunate because soon something else will happen that will ensure that the Rebellion will be sufficiently distracted from dealing with us," Quentyn smiled ferally, while the Lords looked at him in surprise._

" _I have received news from my spies that the Ironborn will soon move, and we must make use of the confusion that arises because of that," Quentyn concluded, while most of the lords immediately erupted in shock._

" _ **We must immediately prepare to repel them!"**_

" _ **Our fleets must be made ready!"**_

" _ **Those damn vultures will not find us an easy prey!"**_

" _Calm down," Quentyn spoke sharply, and all the lords slowly controlled themselves and looked at their prince, who suddenly seemed quite imposing. "The Ironborn will not yet move for another three months, they still need to prepare their fleets and provision them, and, if I am correct, they will wait for the Rebellion's forces to become complacent before they attack. As of now, the armies of the Rebellion will not disperse until they subjugate us, but it will be five months at least before they can make a move on us. Therefore, if they attack now, the Rebellion which is high on morale, and is still blooded on the field will respond quickly if the Ironborn attack. But, in three months, the situation will be different. The Rebellion will be complacent and will have lost their edge. Thinking that we will surrender to their overwhelming might, they will become lazy and over confident and let down their guard. That is when the Ironborn will strike, and we will use the confusion sown by their attack to our own advantage."_

" _I see, an ambitious plan," Lord Harwood spoke out, while other lords nodded._

" _You wish to make use of the Ironborn attacks to mask our movements," Lord Dayne replied with a shrewd look upon his face, as Quentyn nodded._

" _Correct," he continued, "The Ironborn will attack the North, The Westerlands and The Riverlands, there are no other feasible targets for them. The armies of all these lands are still in the Crownlands, and their homelands are weakly defended. The Vale is a mountainous terrain, and assaulting it is of no benefit to the Ironborn. Likewise, the Stormlands possess the most turbulent seas in the world, and the Ironborn would lose their fleet for no gain if they venture there. The Reach, while offering rich prize is too well defended. Randyll Tarly and Paxter Redwyne will see to that. We on the other hand are too far for them to travel to, and the effort to reach Dorne itself is taxing to them and leaves their supply train and provisions vulnerable. So, we have nothing to fear," Quentyn concluded with a confident tone while all the lords looked at the fifteen-year-old boy with awe and a bit of shock._

" _I see, so you are waiting for their attacks to make your own move," Lord Yronwood spoke out, and there was a look of apprehension on his face, as if he had just gained some insight which had escaped everyone else._

" _Exactly," Quentyn replied, "We will move out to attack Starpike as soon as we receive the notice of the Ironborn fleets sailing out. We must ensure that our attacks coincide with each other as much as possible. This will make everyone believe that we have allied ourselves with the Ironborn and distract them. We must do everything in our power to ensure that the rest of the world believes that Dorne and Pyke are together even though it is not the case. If they believe it, then they will move accordingly on a flawed assumption that the Dornish and the Ironborn are working together and will plan accordingly. It will force them to divide their forces, and at the very least the lords of Westerlands and the Riverlands will exert enough pressure on their lords to return home so that they can defend their lands. If Hoster Tully and Tywin Lannister refuse, they will face dissent from their vassals and this will erode the cohesion of their armies, and their confidence will be broken, as the minds of their soldiers will be consumed with worry for their loved ones and for their home, and they will fight half-heartedly which will be advantageous to us. On the other hand, if they take their armies and return to their homelands, that will again reduce the strength of the Rebellion's forces, which is to our benefit. Either way, we gain a decisive advantage."_

" _Brilliant, absolutely brilliant!" Lord Gargalen exclaimed, as a few other lords nodded in assent._

" _A most comprehensive and thorough strategy, my prince," Lord Harwood also agreed._

" _But, what of the Reach? Even if the Ironborn do not go against them, we will still need to be prepared for them," Lord Yronwood pointed out, at which Quentyn pointed out to a map of Westeros, that was hanging at the wall on the east side of the room._

" _Lord Yronwood brings out an excellent point. As I said, it will be three months, before the Ironborn set out. We will use that time to train our forces diligently. The Reach has always boasted of superior manpower, so we will deal with them with superior quality. We will train our new soldiers extensively in new formations, tactics, and equip them with weapons and armor of such quality that it will give them a decisive advantage over the levies of the Reach. We will also reorganize the army and set up a corps of leaders who are capable of leading the men and promote such men into office. It will be the first professional army in Westeros in which capable men of merit will be placed in command."_

 _Murmurs of assent and looks of appreciation began to appear upon the faces of the Lord's as they took in the words of the young prince._

"The battle against the Reach will be the baptism of our new army. As I said, we will make our way to Starpike after the Ironborn attack. However, we will ensure that we set out after the news of these attacks spread. Based on what I know of Mace Tyrell, once he learns of the Ironborn attacks, he will send out Tarly and Redwyne to the borders of the Reach to prepare against possible attacks from the Ironborn. Once those two have set out, we will attack. Tarly and Lord Hightower are the only capable generals in the Reach. With Tarly and the main army of the Reach already sent to guard against the possibility of an Ironborn attack, Mace Tyrell will be forced to raise fresh levies to send them against us. Fresh levies, who will be untrained, lack cohesion and will be poorly equipped against our overwhelmingly superior force. With me in the command, he will gamble that a young and untested commander like me cannot be a threat and will send the second levy against us, which will most likely be commanded by Hightower. But regardless of how capable the general is, if his army is weak, he cannot win, and thus Hightower will lose against us, which will again give pause to House Tyrell."

" _Quite a gamble, my prince, you are putting too much stock on Mace Tyrell's behavior. Are you sure he will take the gamble?" Lord Fowler pointed out to which Quentyn nodded as he began to pace around._

" _He will take it due to his arrogance. And once we defeat the second levy, the Reach will be paralyzed. They will not recall Tarly and Redwyne, because that will leave their backs vulnerable to the Ironborn, and it will leave us free to focus on the forces of the Rebellion. We will take Starpike and remain there and fortify the castle and the surrounding area and will not move any further. The Rebellion and the Reach will wait for us to make a move to respond accordingly, but we will not. Mistakenly believing that we are allied with the Ironborn, they will divide their forces, which will allow us to consolidate our gains, and face them on more practical terms. Now that you have the gist of our plan, can I count on your support my lords?"_

He was met with an exulting roar from most of the lords whose faces were now flush with hope and looked jubilant. He smiled and bowed to them in thanks, while his grandmother and uncle watched with pride etched on their faces.

* * *

Shaking his head at the memories, Lord Anders made his way in towards the castle halls, and waited for Jon Arryn to arrive. This forthcoming meeting was going to change the face of Westeros. He could feel it in his bones. He could not wait anymore. History would change today, and he would be a part of it. Today was the day when Dorne would roar out to the heavens in defiance, and the world would be forced to hear it. No more, no less.

 **Author's Note:** Sorry for the delay. Only one more chapter of exposition left. Then the battles begin. Thanks for your support. Story is also up on my account in if you want to take a look.


	8. Aggressive Negotiation

**Sunspear, Dorne**

As they approached the outskirts of the capital of Dorne, Jon Arryn and his retinue halted in their stride, rather violently at the shock of seeing the outskirts of the city, and few of the riders fell from their mounts unable to regain the control of their horses.

"What in the name of the seven?" exclaimed Yohn Royce, his mouth agape as he watched what could only be termed as a city of blacksmiths, surrounded the walls of Sunspear. Thousands of tents, each containing many forges, evident from the thick funnels of smoke rising into the air, almost reminding one of trees, with their thickness, all covered by the crescendo of hammers falling on anvils. It was a song of metal. Loud, stern and unyielding.

"They have more smiths here than the street of steel!" Jon Arryn's squire, a young man from House Corbray exclaimed in astonishment, while the Lord of the Vale, tightened his visage. This was not a good omen and portended ill tidings.

"Did you know that Dorne could field this number of smithies?" Yohn Royce asked his liege lord, who grunted and shook his head indicating that he did not.

"Even more pressing is this, where did they get all this iron from? The whole of Westeros would have learned of it the first thing, if they had bought it in such quantities," Jon Arryn replied, stroking his beard, as he was wont to do, whenever he was deep in thought.

"Since we have not, it stands to reason that they have always had this much iron with them from the beginning, and that means …," here Royce paused, and his face grimaced as if in pain and not wanting to admit it, "they have hidden it from the eyes of everyone."

"First, an army of 40,000 men, and now enough steel to arm a number of soldiers ten times that, one wonders what else they are hiding? A great general of the caliber of Robert Baratheon and Eddard Stark would be the next thing they would reveal, perhaps," Jon Arryn quipped wanly, not knowing how prophetic his words would turn out to be in the near future.

Slowly, but with mounting unease, the envoys of Robert Baratheon, the still yet uncrowned but almost acknowledged King of Westeros made their way to the gates of the castle. It was there, that the second surprise of the day awaited them.

Waiting for them at the gates of the castle with a score of armed men, was Lord Yronwood, the most powerful bannerman of House Martell, along with a smattering of minor nobles of Dorne. However, most alarming was the lack of presence of any Martell's in the welcoming party.

"Lord Arryn, greetings, in the name of Lady Myriah Martell, I acknowledge your presence in Dorne," the formidable Warden of the Stoneway greeted the Lord Paramount of Vale, whose face registered genuine alarm for a second before it vanished into a smooth look which betrayed nothing to most of the observers.

Acknowledge. Not 'Welcome'. Well, that clearly informed him about the mood of the Dornish, and it would seem that their fury had not abated. Not at all, if he judged by the looks on the faces of the Dornishmen who were now viewing his retinue with undisguised scorn.

"Are you here to offer us bread and salt on behalf of the good Lady Martell, my Lord of Yronwood?" Jon Arryn asked guardedly, even as his hand slowly slid to the hilt of his sword, even as his retinue did the same.

Lord Yronwood ignored it all cheerfully and replied, "If you are here as the Lord Paramount of the Vale, and are desirous of better relations between Dorne and the Vale, then yes; if you are here however, on behalf of the Rebellion as an envoy," the Lord paused and his eyes became like stone, "then you will not be offered bread and salt, and shall be treated as a messenger from the enemy, no more, no less."

The words truly disturbed the Lord of the Vale and his men, and informed them of the threat they had walked into unwittingly. If no guest right was offered, then the Dornish could harm their person directly without any consequences that would occur from violating guest right and becoming absolute outcasts in the eyes of the civilized world.

"And if we state that we are envoys from the Rebellion, and refuse to set foot inside this castle without being offered guest right?" Lord Royce asked with a wary tone, as his eyes roamed around as if looking for an escape route.

"Then we will replenish any provisions you may have expended in making this journey and you may leave. But you will not be permitted to meet with the Lady Martell," Lord Yronwood spoke idly, as Jon Arryn and Yohn Royce froze.

Apparently, Dorne was not in the mood to budge even a bit, if this was the kind of welcome they had walked into. Even though they were in the sweltering heat of the desert, the atmosphere around them was colder than the coldest swathes of the North.

"Do you speak for Dorne in this matter, Lord Yronwood?" Jon Arryn asked softly, at which Lord Yronwood shook his head.

"The good Lady Myriah speaks for Dorne for all matters, but in this matter, you may consider my voice to be hers," he spoke in a tone that brooked no argument, and the envoys now realized they had a choice to make.

"What will it be, my Lord of Arryn? Will you forfeit the guest right and gain an audience with the Princess of Dorne, or will you insist upon it and return empty handed? The choice is yours," Lord Yronwood finished, even as all eyes turned upon Jon Arryn.

After a moment of deep contemplation, Lord Arryn dismounted from his horse, much to the dismay of his men, and to the delight of the Dornishmen.

However, Jon Arryn insisted on retaining their weapons even as they sought an audience with Myriah Martell, to which Lord Yronwood agreed with rather disquieting ease.

* * *

As they reached the main hall of the palace, he noticed more and more that the number of armed guards within the palace was increasing at an alarming rate. Finally, he entered the throne room of Sunspear and froze. Almost every single bannerman of Drone was present within the hall, and Myriah Martell, the reigning Princess of Dorne was holding court. Glaring via their absence were the Prince's Oberyn and Quentyn Martell. As he entered with his retinue, all talk ceased and everyone turned around to look at him.

Myriah Martell clapped her hands twice and everyone within the hall stopped whatever they were doing and became silent as Jon Arryn approached the centre of the hall and looked up at the ruler of Dorne, who was seated in a throne on a dais at a marble platform opposite the end of the room.

"Jon Arryn, Lord Paramount of the Vale, you have travelled a long way from Kings Landing to Dorne," Myriah Martell observed softly as Jon Arryn looked at her and gave a curt bow.

"The courtesy of Sunspear seems to have lessened of late, my good lady, from the indication of the behavior that we have been accosted with since our arrival. To not offer guest rights to a visiting Lord Paramount has never been done before," Arryn continued with a hint of steel entering his tone, at which harsh whispers emerged throughout the hall.

Myriah raised her hands and all whispers ceased, "Indeed, however, compared to the courtesy that your foster son, Robert Baratheon, the so-called King of Westeros showed to the corpses of my daughter and my grandchildren, I consider the behavior of Lord Yronwood and my men to be the epitome of Chivalry," she spoke in a cold tone, at which Jon Arryn's eyes went wide.

Robert Baratheon's exultation at seeing the corpses of Rhaegar Targaryen's family, and his subsequent approval of the deeds had become the talk of households throughout Westeros, and something that had not endeared the new King to the masses. The fact that the small folk considered mad Aerys Targaryen to be the worse option was the only thing why there had been very little protests on that matter from the rest of the Kingdoms.

"I would be rather careful about bandying words of behavior, My Lord, lest the rest of this conversation traverse through a very slippery slope," Myriah warned, at which Jon Arryn gulped and hastily nodded his assent realizing the pitfall that lay in that path.

"Ah … well, though my words may have seemed rather harsh, I ended up responding through my emotions, which got the better of me momentarily, I apologize, do sit down, Lord Arryn, and you as well, Lord Royce, pardon me for not recognizing you sooner," Myriah smiled, and sat down on her throne, even as a few servants immediately brought in a set of table and chairs and placed them in such a manner that the ones who would be seated would face the Princess of Dorne directly.

"So, Lord Arryn, I believe you have a message for me? Come, let us not dawdle any more, and finish quickly. I have other pressing matters to attend to," Myriah continued even as she gestured the Lord of the Vale to begin.

Frowning at the flippant attitude being displayed, Jon Arryn proceeded, "Lady Martell, I bring you terms from the Rebellion, so that we may cease hostilities, and peace may reign throughout the realms again."

"Continue," Myriah spoke, her eyes becoming harsh, and her tone stern, while all the men of Dorne in the room glared at him with hostility.

"The terms are such," Jon Arryn continued, "The Rebellion, and consequently, King Robert Baratheon will impose no penalties upon Dorne and its nobility for associating themselves and fighting for the hated Targaryen's, and they will be allowed to keep their lands and their titles. Furthermore, all taxes that Dorne will pay to the Iron Throne will be halved for the next ten years. In return, Dorne must dip its banners, and cease all hostilities. Furthermore, House Martell must swear fealty to King Robert Baratheon and accept him as the King on the Iron Throne and the sole sovereign ruler of Westeros. These are the terms."

The silence within the hall was so grave, that one could have heard the sound of a pin if it had been dropped on the floor. Many of the noblemen in the hall looked visibly nauseated, and few of them moved their hands to the hilt of their weapons.

"Hmm," Myriah paused, as she looked around the room, and then squarely focused upon the eyes of Jon Arryn.

 **"REJECTED."**

"What?" Yohn Royce stood up in shock, even as the other members of the retinue looked dumbfounded at the Princess of Dorne. Jon Arryn looked at the old Princess with his mouth agape.

"You do understand, my lady, that if you reject these terms, you will be at war with the Rebellion?" Arryn asked quietly, at which Myriah scoffed.

"You speak as if we are not at war already, My Lord," Myriah scoffed.

"When we fought earlier as vassals of House Targaryen, we fought because Aerys Targaryen held my daughter and grandchildren hostage. Now, my daughter is dead, my grandchildren are dead, and my brother as well. Now, we will keep on fighting, in her memory, and for a greater purpose," she concluded, as Jon Arryn's eyes narrowed.

"Greater purpose?" he asked in a careful measured tone, at which Myriah scoffed.

"Tell me, Jon Arryn, why in the name of the seven did you ever think that House Martell and subsequently all of Dorne, would ever consider bending the knee to a whoremongering brute like Robert Baratheon? Who is he to us? What is he to us? By what right does he command us? Who is he to offer us terms in the first place?" she asked harshly while Jon's cheeks reddened in anger, while the rest of his retinue displayed anger for the first time, as all the Dornishmen in the hall laughed out loudly.

"He is the King of Westeros, as acclaimed by the Lords Paramount of the realm," Jon thundered, at which Myriah scoffed.

"I do not recall ever giving my assent as such to any proclamation," Myriah replied curtly. "You and the rest of the fools in the Rebellion are welcome to have him as your King, if that is your desire, but not Dorne, never Dorne. Dorne will never bow down to a lecherous whoremonger who condones the rape and murder of an innocent woman and rejoices at the sight of the mutilated corpses of her children. Dorne will never bow to such a man, who is completely bereft of honor, basic decency and the right to Kingship. We took the Targaryen's as our kings. And with their end, also ends our allegiance to the Iron Throne. Dorne is now once again an independent Kingdom, as it was before we bowed to the Targaryen's, and as it should be now," she finished, at which all the Dornishmen in the room let out a deafening roar of approval, some even brandishing their swords and shouting threats at the Rebellion. At the reminder of the fate of Elia Martell and her children, the men of the Vale at least had the decency to bow their heads in shame, as they remembered the behavior of their King when he had learned of their fact.

Pure, unadulterated shock, that was the sum of all the feelings that Jon Arryn currently felt. This was not what he hoped for, not at all. Lord Royce was in a similar state of shock, while the rest of their men watched on in sullen silence.

"Do you understand what this means?" Jon whispered in shock. "Robert, and more to the point, the other lords of the realm will not allow the Iron Throne to fracture. They will raze Dorne to the ground in retaliation. Against such overwhelming might what can you do?" he continued at which Lord Yronwood's hand fell to his sword. Only Myriah Martell's raised hand stayed his response.

"Raze Dorne? You overestimate your capabilities too greatly, Arryn," she scoffed. "Aegon the conqueror himself attempted it and failed, losing one of his wives and dragons in the process. For a hundred years after the conquest, Dorne alone stood against the might of the rest of Westeros, Unbowed, Unbent & Unbroken, and you think a mere brute like Robert Baratheon can achieve what all those legends could not? You give him too much credit. You ask me what we can do? We shall wage war, by land, by sea, on rivers, on mountains, on sand, on marshes, on any terrain whatsoever, with all the strength that the Gods will give us, to wage war against a new tyrant who seeks to shackle us again. And our only goal will be to gain victory, victory at any cost, victory in spite of all the hardships, no matter how long and hard the road may be, but we shall never ever surrender," she finished her speech with such zeal, such passion, that for a second Jon Arryn's stout heart skipped a beat. The hatred in the old woman's eyes nearly blinded him and he averted his eyes from looking at her.

The Dornishmen in the room let out a shout of approval which nearly tore the roof of the hall of Sunspear apart. They shouted their approval until their throats could no longer support it. It took nearly twenty minutes to restore order.

"You have your answer, Arryn, tell what I have spoken here to your King, and warn him that if he is fool enough to challenge Dorne, he should be prepared to pay a price far greater than any he can dream of. This audience is ended," she spoke curtly and made to stand up, when the old Lord stood up.

"Very well, Lady Martell, you have convinced me of your resolve, and that of Dorne's. Name your terms if you have any, My Lady, whatever they may be and it shall be conveyed to the new King," he asked in a polite and respectful tone to which Myriah paused.

"If you wish for peace, and note that I mention only peace, not fealty to the Iron Throne, then you will hand over Amory Lorch and Gregor Clegane to our justice. Nothing else will suffice."

Jon Arryn paused, and looking the resolute face in front of him, he sighed with a heavy heart. "I will pass on your words, though I doubt Tywin Lannister will agree to it. And just for the sake of curiosity, what would it take for you to swear fealty to the Iron Throne?"

Myriah paused for a moment, and the answer came swiftly, "The head of Tywin Lannister is the price for Dorne's fealty to Robert Baratheon."

"Are you insane?" he screamed in shock as he jumped back a step, alarm flittering through his face. "What makes you think that Robert will even consider such a demand? Or that Tywin will even agree to this?" as his fellow Valemen could only gape in shock at what they were witnessing.

 _Did the Princess of Dorne just demand the head of the Old Lion of Casterly Rock as her price for fealty?_

 _Was she mad?_

"It is called as one of the burdens of being a King, Arryn. If your foster son desires to be the King of Westeros now, it is his part to dispense justice to aggrieved parties. Tywin was the one who ordered the deaths of my daughter and grandchildren, and I will have justice and vengeance for it. If Robert Baratheon has a single drop of honor in his blood, he will acknowledge my demand and deliver, or lose Dorne forever. If he doesn't, then Dorne will take Tywin Lannister's head alone."

"Take?" Jon Arryn asked in a careful tone.

"Did you think that we would just demand his head and leave it at that? No Arryn, We, all of Dorne, will never stop until we have the Old Lion's head in our hands. We will not eat, we will not drink, we will not sleep, we will not rest and most importantly, we will never stop until we have Tywin Lannister's head, no matter how long it may take," she finished, at which Jon Arryn could literally feel the bloodlust emanating from every person in the room.

 _So, it is to be war, then. Dorne would not, could not be allowed to secede. That would doom Westeros itself. He felt bad for the bad hand that fate had dealt House Martell, but one house's justice could not supersede universal justice, no matter how right the cause may be. If everyone used legitimate grievances as a means to secede, it would mean total anarchy, and that could not be tolerated. It would seem that Tywin would have the destruction of House Martell as he desired, without expending any effort after all._

"Very well, my lady, do I have your leave to send word of your terms to Kings Landing then?" Jon Arryn asked as he looked at his men, who all nodded in agreement.

"You may, however, it will be Lord Royce who will take our terms back, not you," came the curt reply, and an icy fear settled in his stomach as he whirled around in shock to look at the Princess of Dorne.

"You… What are you all doing? Wait … so this was why you did not offer guest right?" he whispered in shock as all the Valemen surrounded him, even as nearly two hundred Dornish guards formed a circle around his group with swords drawn and pointing towards them, outnumbering them by a factor of ten to one. They could not fight their way out, not against these odds.

"You should have realized this was going to happen, when we refused to offer you guest right, Arryn, and yet you foolishly walked in any way. I even offered you the chance to return and you squandered it like a fool," Lord Yronwood replied smoothly as he stepped forward.

"Unlike you, we are not foolish enough to squander such a God-given opportunity, when it falls right into our laps," the Lord continued, even as the Lord of Runestone looked at him with a black rage in his eyes.

"Lord Royce," Myriah Martell spoke again, "You and three other men of your retinue will be permitted to return to Kings Landing and place our terms to Robert Baratheon. If he wants peace, he will hand over Amory Lorch, Gregor Clegane and Tywin Lannister to us to dispense justice. If he does not, then war it will be. You will ride back to Kings Landing, and you will not be allowed to use a raven to send our terms. No house in Dorne will permit you to use a raven. Nor will you be permitted to sail to Kings Landing. Try and ride as fast as your horse permits," she smiled cruelly before pausing, "And one more thing, the armies of the Vale will no longer aid the Rebellion. If they move with the forces of the Rebellion, then Jon Arryn dies," she concluded, at which Jon Arryn let loose a diatribe of curses, but that was all he was now capable of doing.

"Curb your tongue, Arryn," Myriah snapped back, "Remember the fact that you no longer have any heirs. If you die, the Vale will self-destruct with dozens of claimants vying for your seat. If you wish for the Vale to survive as a Kingdom, you will do as instructed," she ordered, while Jon Arryn paused after hearing those words, and very grudgingly nodded in acquiescence, even as he watched everything transpiring around him with impotent rage bubbling within his soul.

"But, my lady, without a raven, or a ship, it will take at least six weeks for me to reach Kings Landing, even if I ride at my best," Lord Royce protested.

"That is not our concern," Myriah replied curtly, even as her men escorted the loudly protesting Lord of Runestone out along with three of his men. Those additional six weeks would gain Quentyn enough time to consolidate his gains in the Reach, not that these fools needed to know of it, in her opinion.

"They will know, Myriah, they always know," Jon Arryn warned making one last attempt, at which the Princess of Dorne laughed heartily.

"If you believe that the little birds of Varys will warn them, then I am afraid they will not. Varys may have his little birds, but it is my grandson who rules the skies that they need to fly to convey their messages. Kings Landing will hear what he only permits them to hear. No more, no less," she smirked and turned around to leave, as finally, the pieces clicked in Jon Arryn's mind and revealed to him the originator of this plot. **_Prince Quentyn Martell._**

* * *

 **AT THE SAME TIME, NEAR STARPIKE CASTLE.**

* * *

As he watched the host of 30,000 men make their way towards the castle from one of its towers, William Dayne, Lord of Starfall and the elder brother of Arthur Dayne, called one of his men.

"Inform Prince Quentyn, that the Hightower host is here. The Battle for Starpike is now upon us."

* * *

 **Author's note:**

Next, the battle for Starpike, and Quentyn's debut as a general in front of the eyes of the world as as whole.

* Arthur Dayne's brother's name has not yet been revealed in canon if i a correct, so I am using the name William for it. If anybody knows what his true name is , please let me know and I will change it accordingly. I could not find it despite searching in the Ice & Fire Wiki.


	9. Battle of Starpike - Part 1

Quentyn found the weight of his wrought armour pleasantly heavy, bringing back fond memories of his erstwhile life, for it reminded him of his strength and his ability to wear the weight, not only of the metal, but also of the war for which it was worn. His striking figure inspired respect from all the warriors that surrounded him. As for the levies, they watched, open-mouthed with awe as he went around the castle assigning his forces up and down to their positions, his mere presence serving to affirm among those gathered on his behalf at Starpike that they fought for the right side, the right cause and, above all, the right man.

He slowly made his way back to the main hall of the castle, which had been converted into a war council room, and nodded at his commanders for the battle. Sir Manfrey Martell, the castellan of Sunspear, his father's distant cousin and his kinsman. Lord Dayne, the Lord of Starfall and the elder brother of Arthur Dayne, the Sword of the Morning, and their retinues. For the battle of Starpike, the three of them alone, would suffice as the leader's as the rest of the commanders of the Dornish Army were still making their way back from Sunspear, after concluding the meeting with Jon Arryn of the Vale.

"My Prince, we are ready for battle, all our soldiers stand ready for battle," Ser Manfrey Martell replied, to which Quentyn nodded with a serene smile.

"How shall we approach this battle? Shall we endure a siege or sally forth and meet them?" Lord Dayne asked, at which Quentyn looked at the position of the forces on the map before him and began to think.

After a few calculations, he made up his mind and stood up.

"This is the first battle of the new army of Dorne, and we must demonstrate before the world our resolve and our capabilities through this battle," he paused and began to pace around the room, as all the man watched him with keen eyes.

"As you are all aware, by now, the meeting between the Rebellion's envoys and my grandmother will have ended, and the news of our defiance will soon reach Kings Landing. Once this news breaks out, it will be total war between us and the Rebellion. A crisis, that if we do not manage will bring about the end of Dorne as we see it. Only a lot quicker instead of the slow death it would have been over the long run had we bent the knee," here, he paused for effect, and scoffed with derision, while the faces of the listeners tightened.

"To stand against the grand coalition of the Rebellion, we will need to use every last measure of strength available to us. In other words, it will require every man of Dorne to stand together and fight as one. If we fail, Dorne dies. This will be, quite literally, total warfare. I will hereby begin explaining our plan," he continued and stepped up to the life scale map drawn on the floor.

"With Dorne's current resources, we lack the ability to engage in prolonged warfare with the Rebellion and have no chance of engaging them in a meaningless head-on fight. Where they have the advantage of men, material and resources, we must trade that with the advantage of terrain, weather and skill from our end. The Hightower host is a fresh levy, and lacks cohesion, and discipline. Furthermore, it is a host which is made up of many knights and minor commanders who are second and third sons of minor noble houses, eager and thirsty for fame and glory above all. They care more about making a name for themselves and earning fame and fortune rather than victory. We will exploit that flaw. Unlike them, we are a new kind of army, a new breed, of the like that has not been seen before in Westeros, one which is well-trained, well-disciplined, and above all, one where its soldiers will not put personal glory before victory," he paused and looked at his commanders who all nodded stiffly.

They did not need to elaborate. Quentyn's new training methods in the desert camps had thoroughly rooted out all men with such temperament in the army, and they had all been summarily punished, which had driven the message clearly through the minds of the rest of the soldiers of Dorne. Orders were absolute.

"What are we to do, My Lord?" Lord Dayne asked, at which Quentyn moved certain pieces forward and placed them in a formation shaped like a bell in front of the Hightower Host.

"We will deploy the Bell formation. Lord Dayne, you will take charge of the vanguard. I will take overall command with 12,000 men comprised of 4,000 infantry, 6,000 archers and 2,000 cavalries. For the vanguard, out of the 12,000 men you shall take 2,000 infantry and the full 2,000 cavalry, in the standard block formation for the first half of the battle and deploy the stratagem of pockets. At noon, we will deploy the Bell formation, and I will personally enter the field to direct the battle from then onwards. The rest of our force will remain within the castle," Quentyn continued as the Lord of Starfall's eyes went wide.

"My Lord, are you sure?"

"We need to try it out and need to test the cohesion of our own forces. Better to test it against unseasoned levies like the one's in front of us, rather than trying them out against the hardened forces of the Rebellion. We have worked on this formation for a month as you know, with focus on simplicity. Only two things need go right for us to win. Arrogance and Stupidity, things which our enemies possess in abundance."

"As you say, My Lord," Lord Dayne, nodded and walked out of the room with cheers and wishes of encouragement from his fellow nobles along the way.

* * *

 **HIGHTOWER HOST, 2 MILES FROM STARPIKE CASTLE**

* * *

The Hightower host arrived with great fanfare at the battlefield. Banners of House Tyrell and House Hightower fluttered in the breeze predominantly with a few other banners of minor houses mixed between, trumpets trilled, men and animals alike shone in their armour, cast iron and leather worked together with gold insignia for the nobles, silver for the knights and commanders, and copper markings for the ordinary levies. Horses too, wore mail, commensurate with the station of the warriors who rode them.

All in all, it was an impressive sight. At a hill, 4 miles straight opposite to Starpike castle, and well within the Reach territory, Lord Leyton Hightower, held council. Attending, were his son Baelor, Ser Aerys Oakheart of House Oakheart, Lord Branston Cuy of Sunhouse, his nephew Ser Emmon, Lord Alester Florent of Brightwater Keep, His third brother Ser Colin, and Merrel Florent, Colin's son.

"The scouts report that the Dornish have sallied forth with a host of 4,000 men, while the rest remain holed up in the castle," Lord Hightower replied, even as he moved the necessary pieces denoting said units on the map in front of him.

"They are underestimating us," Alester Florent growled, while most of the others nodded in agreement.

"Or, it could be a feint," replied Ser Baelor as he looked at the deployments with a keen eye.

"Pah, it is a boy who commands the host before us, a green boy, who is playing at being a soldier, we can deal with him easily," Emmon Cuy retorted with a scoff.

"A boy," replied Lord Leyton, "who has single-handedly checkmated the Rebellion with an alliance with the Ironborn and has prevented us from wielding our full might," he concluded, at which there were some murmurs.

"Conjectures, which are yet to be proven, My Lord," Colin Florent retorted, to which the old Lord of Hightower paused.

"That remains to be seen, for now, Lord Cuy, you will command the Vanguard and take the field. There are 4,000 men before us, a mix of infantry and cavalry. You shall take the field with 15,000 men, 10,000 infantry, and the rest of it will be light cavalry, commanded by the members of House Florent. Break the field and ensure that we can reach the walls of the castle so that we can properly invest them in a siege."

"I shall, My Lord," Lord Branston replied, and made his way out of the tent.

* * *

 **THE 1st HALF OF THE BATTLE OF STARPIKE**

* * *

At the third hour of the morning, the Hightower host assembled, and looked askance at the Dornish forces arrayed before them. 2000 infantry and 2000 cavalry were arrayed in a formation of square blocks. Against them, Branston Cuy arranged his forces in a wedge-shaped formation and the order was given.

 **"VANGUARD, ADVANCE!"**

With a thunderous roar, the 5,000 light horsemen led by Alester Florent and his Kinsmen charged forward. The very earth trembling and shaking with the hoofbeats of so many horses. On the opposite side, Lord Dayne similarly advanced with 2000 horsemen to meet the charge head-on.

With a thunderous clash, the two sides met. Horses and men collided with each other breaking bodies like water upon rock. The air was rife with screams of the wounded and the dying as well as the frenzied tones of the fresh levies who had found themselves thrown head-first into a meat grinder of a battle.

From his headquarters, Leyton Hightower watched the advance of the Tyrell cavalry with a grim visage.

"MM…They are not doing too bad, My Lord," Ser Arys Oakheart replied, as he watched the battle alongside the old general.

Indeed, the Wedge-shaped charge of the Tyrell cavalry had sliced through the centre of the Dornish Vanguard and was pressing forward by the minute. From their vantage point atop the walls of Starpike, Ser Manfrey Martell came to the same conclusion.

"Not good, the balance seems to be favouring the Tyrell soldiers!"

"No need to panic, uncle," Quentyn replied smoothly, as he came next to him, "There was a reason why I sent in only two thousand of our cavalry against 5,000 of theirs, now watch, and witness the fruits of our training."

Even as he spoke, on the battlefield, Lord Dayne had begun to deploy his men according to the strategy.

"Have the 2nd squad on the left, close in a bit more. Have the 5th and 6th push out into the enemy's left. Let the 7th slide left, and let the 8th slide right, and have the rest fall back 500 paces. Their charge has walked right in, now clear the path in front of them, and envelop them from both sides, and start grinding them down."

His men followed his orders to the letter.

 **"GO GO GO! Break into their left flank!"**

 **"Hoooahh!"**

 **"8th squad, Charge!"**

Slowly, the din of the battle began to ebb. Meanwhile on the Tyrell side, Lord Cuy took stock of the situation, "Are the Dornish beginning to push us back?"

Meanwhile, Lord William Dayne was preparing to turn the tide.

 _Seems that the Prince was correct, when he stated that the men of Dorne are like the sand, our mobility is our greatest asset after all. Soldiers like these might lack the sudden explosive strength that a heavy cavalry charge may gain, but in exchange, neither will they collapse easily. It is for this reason, that despite being outnumbered we are able to hold down the Tyrell's. Then I suppose, it is time for me to begin._

As he unsheathed his sword, he barked out a command, "Gerold, gather 500 men around me, we strike now!"

With that, the Lord of Starfall began a ferocious charge into the enemy lines, his sword cleaving man and horse alike in his path and leaving none alive.

With a roar, the 500 men looped around the attacking Tyrell cavalry, and swerved suddenly to the right and charged into their flank with a thunderous impact.

"They have pushed them back! Not just that, but they are going on the offensive!" Manfrey Martell whispered in shock as Quentyn just smirked in smug satisfaction.

On the field, William Dayne had identified the enemy commander, a knight wearing a yellow tabard and holding his ground with a core group of a hundred horsemen around him. Without giving him any respite, William Dayne tore into his flank and after parrying a strike from the man's blade, he knocked it away, and before the man could recover, he beheaded the man with a backhanded swing of his blade.

The head of Ser Emmon Cuy flew into the air, with horrifying screams of shock from his companions accompanying it, and his company broke and began a general retreat. The left wing of the Tyrell advance was broken.

At the Tyrell Army's headquarters, the news was received with dismay.

 _"General, Ser Emmon Cuy has been killed!"_

 _"What?!"_

 _"We have lost a commander already?!"_

 **"SER! New report! Ser Colin Florent has also been killed!"**

 **"At least 21 knight commanders have been killed as of now!"**

 _"The left wing is breaking down, there are hardly any leaders left! Lord Alester Florent is trying to desperately rally the remaining men."_

Leyton Hightower was speedily going through the various reports and trying to form a coherent picture of the current battlefield.

 _Our army is a fresh levy, yes, but still, we had hoped that having seasoned knights and well-known Lords as commanders would offset the balance, and that they would be able to maintain control in the battlefield. Within the 15 units that comprise of the vanguard, almost nine of them had fresh and newly minted knights as commanders. It couldn't be helped as most of the seasoned commanders are with the Tarly army returning from Storm's End … And now, nearly two-thirds of the commanders are dead?_

 _Could it be … that they are deliberately targeting our commanders and all the known knights to make the vanguard leaderless? If that is the case … then …_

Immediately, he turned around and barked a new set of orders.

"Ser Aerys, Baelor, both of you are to charge down there and rally the remaining troops, ensure that you have two detachments guarding you at all times. The Dornish are leaving the levies alone and are deliberately targeting the commanders … take care to …," he was interrupted as the sound of a huge commotion reached his ears.

He turned around to see a perplexing sight.

The sounds of large bells ringing wildly could be heard all over the battlefield. In front of the perplexed Tyrell Army, the rampaging Dornish cavalry began to retreat.

"They are retreating when they have the field? Why?" Baelor Hightower asked in surprise, as the rest of the commanders seemed equally flummoxed.

Meanwhile, in the field, Alester Florent used the momentary respite and began to rally forth the men and began to bring a halt to the ongoing rout.

 _"Up there, on the castle walls!"_ Ser Aerys Oakheart shouted in alarm, and all eyes turned to the walls of Starpike, where they could see soldiers of the Dornish Army wheeling out siege engines and load huge jars on the catapults.

Before the command post could set out a warning, the catapults loosened their load, and dozens of jars, each the size of a small pony rose through the air and crashed into the middle of the battlefield, clearly delineating the two forces.

The jars burst with a thunderous impact, and out of them rose a thick hazy smoke, clearly obfuscating the battlefield. The bombardment continued relentlessly as more and more jars were thrown about, and the smoke became so much, that for a few minutes, the gargantuan castle of Starpike was itself obscured from view.

"Order a general halt and tell all forces to fall back by two thousand yards, now!" Leyton Hightower ordered in a tone which brooked no opposition, as messengers raced out and got on their mounts and began to ride towards the commanders in the field to relay the message.

The commanders of the Tyrell Army did not have to wait for long, and when the smoke cleared, they saw a sight that took their breaths away. The Dornish lines had reorganized themselves. More than 10,000 men had come out of the castle gates to set themselves in formation.

From what they could see, there was a wall of infantry nearly 4,000 strong, with half of them pushing forward wooden palisades, and creating a veritable wall to protect the men behind them. The other 2,000 had been placed to protect the men holding the palisades, and the remaining cavalry from the battle had split themselves to guard the said infantry. But what scared them the most, was another 6,000 men behind those walls, all of them archers by the looks of it, and in the absolute centre of that formation was a siege tower which was being pulled forward by eight horses. At the top of the tower however, sitting atop a chair, without a care in the world, was a lightly armoured boy observing the battlefield with a keen gaze. The banner of House Martell flying behind him leaving no doubt about his identity. Prince Quentyn Martell had arrived on the field.

And although no one at the time knew it, the battle was about to enter its most bloody phase yet.


	10. Battle of Starpike - Part 2

**The Battle of Starpike – Part 2**

* * *

As the sounds of the huge bells began to resonate around the battlefield, Lord Alester Florent reigned in his horse, and took stock of the situation. The 1st wave of the Tyrell infantry charge had been totally wiped out, and Lord Branston Cuy, the chief commander of the Vanguard had already been slain as was his nephew, Ser Emmon. The battle had not started well for the forces of the Reach. His men were similarly bewildered at the strange occurrence of these sounds, and at the seeming retreat of the Dornish cavalry.

"That noise!"

"W-what on earth is that ruckus!?"

"W-what's going on!?"

"The hell is that?"

"That's sounding more like a gong than a bell, my lord," Merrel Florent replied, pausing to tie up a strip of cloth he had torn from his tunic to bandage a wound on his left shoulder.

"No, it's a signal!" Alester Florent replied with a curt tone, his face becoming grimmer as each minute passed even as he looked at the enemies charging in on his position.

"Signal!?"

Meanwhile, on the other side, Lord William Dayne reeled in his attack, as he too heard the sounds made by the ringing bells.

"Tsk! That's a bit too early! I guess the Prince does not wish to play around anymore! Our 2nd wave is here."

"They're coming! Brace yourselves!" Alester Florent shouted as he noticed the catapults lining up on the walls.

The first few jars smashed into the open ground a few hundred yards in front of him, and a thick smoke began to spread around the field.

"Hold! Hold the lines! You must hold!" he shouted desperately as he tried to rally his men through the unceasing bombardment from the walls of the castle.

"Tch! A smokescreen on this scale! Enough to cover the whole battlefield? What is that boy playing at?" Aerys Oakheart wondered as he watched the scene playing on the battlefield below alongside Lord Hightower and his son from their headquarters.

In the field, the situation was getting out of hand. "Uncle!" Merrel Florent shouted aloud as he rode up to his Lord, "Are you unharmed? Damn it! We have been outplayed, this smoke has robbed us of our vision and our men cannot move!"

"And just when we had managed to halt the rout as well, this is an enemy scheme, no doubt," Alester retorted even as he moved back with his nephew.

The majority of the Tyrell cavalry which was made up of many landed knights was becoming agitated. Having their charge broken in a spectacular fashion, the ignominy of being made to retreat by a force less than half their size was sorely rankling the men, who were shouting at their opponents in a bid to vent their frustration.

"Hah! You think something like this will be enough to stop us?"

"Don't think that a momentary break will help you! The moment this smoke clears, we will …"

"Hmm, it appears that they are quite angry over there," William Dayne smirked, even as Manfrey Martell nodded in agreement.

"The poor fools! The real terror of this formation starts now!"

Hidden by the smoke, the six thousand archers in the formation drew and aimed their arrows as one and targeted the Tyrell Army, both the charging cavalry, and the infantry behind them.

" **FIRE!"**

For a second, it appeared as if a black haze ascended into the air and then descended just as quickly.

Hearing the sound of the bows being drawn, Alester Florent shouted out in genuine alarm, "Get down!", but he was too late.

The hail of arrows descended squarely upon the cavalry formation with deadly precision.

"Aah!"

"Gaahhh!"

"Guooh …"

"Damn it!"

Men and horses went down by the hundreds, but the assault did not cease despite the lingering smoke which obstructed their view.

"Are they mad?" Merrel Florent whispered in shock and fear, "Their own soldiers are also still in the field, they will end up hitting their own people as well!"

He turned around and paused as he took in the scene before him, " _Those 500 Dornish cavalrymen are all gone! Only we are left in the field! Not good …"_ he realized in a flash that the Dornish cavalry had acted as bait to force the Tyrell cavalry to remain in the field, and at the first sign of the bombardment retreated behind their own lines, using the smoke as cover.

 _A combination of soldiers and a smokescreen. Are the Dornish intending to fight inside this smoke?_

"Let us move from this position! The enemy has memorised our location and is firing at it" Merrel Florent shouted out to his men, as they turned around and made to retreat.

"Thanks to this smoke, if we move, they should lose track of us as well!" Alester Florent agreed and gave the order for the retreat.

"Alright! Move out!"

"Hooaahh!"

"Be on your guard! Due to this smoke, there is a possibility that we might end up running into a Dornish Ambush!"

"Go! Go! Go!"

It was not just the Tyrell cavalry, but the Tyrell Infantry which had moved behind the cover of the horse was also pulling out. Due to being on foot, and the nature of the terrain, they were a lot slower than the horsemen.

From the Dornish position, they could not actually see the Tyrell's figures, and it was impossible to pinpoint their location using footsteps alone.

"Halt! Regroup!" William Dayne ordered his cavalrymen, who paused and retreated to regroup, thankful for the respite.

But there was one thing which did not change. Despite the heavy smoke which covered the battlefield, the Dornish archers were still able to target the Tyrell forces accurately.

"Draw! Aim!"

" **FIRE!"**

The arrows continued to rain down upon the Tyrell forces, who were not given any respite. Men and horses alike continued to fall down in staggering numbers. A real panic had begun to set in amongst the Tyrell forces now.

"What!?"

"Gwah!"

"Ugh!"

"Gods damn it! What the hell is going on?"

"H-How is this possible!?"

"Ha-ha, yes, they're in chaos alright! Just as planned! I guess we won't be needed anymore!" William Dayne smiled as he beheld the carnage being inflicted on their enemies in front of them. "After all, the moment you are caught in the Prince's trap, you will never be able to escape!"

* * *

In the centre of the formation, Quentyn watched the progress of the battle with a steely gaze. _I guess using Master Gen-po's trap was too much for the Tyrell's. The only one's who managed to break it in the entirety of China were the generals of Qin. The Tyrell's cannot even dream of approaching that level of competence in a thousand years._

"My Prince! We still have yet to receive any reports of anything being amiss!" one of the infantry commanders standing next to his tower, reported to which he absently nodded.

"I know that already! Stop reporting every little thing!"

"This is not even a challenge! Is there no one with even a little bit of brains on their side!? Enough, send them out!" he ordered, at which the commanders below him were taken aback.

"S-Sir! So soon!?

" **Stop repeating every last thing I say! Hurry up and send them out! Good grief!** _No matter the kingdom, some armies will always have idiots I suppose,_ " he reflected quietly, as his men scrambled to carry out his orders.

* * *

Meanwhile, on the Tyrell side, Baelor Hightower had ridden out into the battlefield to assume command in these dire straits. As he approached the battlefield, he paused for a minute, and gazed around the battlefield. After a few minutes, his eyes widened as he saw the Dornish contingent and witnessed what they were doing with his own eyes.

 _I see, so that's what is going on …_

"On me!" he roared, and charged inside the fray, and made his way to Alester Florent and his nephew.

"Shit! What the hell are we supposed to do? Where the hell are we meant to go? Those damn archers are always hitting us!" Merrel Florent roared in anger even as he parried aside an incoming arrow with his blade.

"It will be the same wherever we go!" retorted Baelor, even as he and his men approached them quickly.

"Ser Baelor!"

"What do you mean?" Alester Florent asked in a hurry, even as he too swatted away an arrow.

" _The Dornish are transmitting our location using sound!"_

"SOUND!?" the Florent leaders and the men around them whirled around in surprise, as they looked around their surroundings.

"The Dornish have quietly sent out small groups of soldiers with bells and gong signals to surround us. And by keeping track of us by moving in tandem with us, they are able to relay our movements to those infernal archers using sound signals."

"What!?

"C-come to think of it, every now and then I catch a hint of a gong in all of the ruckus around us!" Merrel reported, even as his eyes held a wild look about them.

"So, all we need to do is kill those bastards beating those bells and the arrows should stop hitting us," Alester growled, and turned around to give the order when Baelor stopped him.

"The enemy will have taken that into consideration! Even if we cut down all those sound teams, they will have replacements ready on hand and we will still be in the same situation. What's an even bigger concern is the fact that we have lost contact with majority of our men inside this smoke. While on the other hand, the Dornish army is completely aware of the positions of both friend and foe alike. All those pockets of men who have been isolated will be massacred! I recommend that we pull out now and order a wholescale retreat! We have lost this …" Baelor paused as suddenly a deep rumbling sound permeated throughout the whole battlefield.

"Kuh! What's that sound this time? This doesn't sound like a bell!?" Alester Florent whirled around as did all the men around them looking for the source of that sound.

"No! Wait, that's not a signal! That's …" Baelor replied in alarm even as the ground began to shake wildly, and his horse began to buck around, and he tried to calm it down.

"Whatever it is, it can't be good!" Merrel Florent replied, and he was proven right soon.

Through the haze of the smoke, they could see large shapes rushing forward at an alarming pace. Then out of the smoke a column of humongous War Chariots, each being pulled by four horses, and having a driver and a spear thrower within burst out of the smoke.

The Tyrell's and for that matter, no one in Westeros had yet seen a chariot let alone conceived the thought of one, and Riboku or rather Quentyn had gambled on that point heavily. In the last three months, every single carpenter in Dorne had been ruthlessly pushed into building these war wagons. After drawing up the designs of these chariots, based heavily upon the famous war chariots of the Kingdom of Wei, Riboku's men had managed to build a hundred of these chariots, and these were now his ace in the hole, so to speak. This was the first time in the history of Westeros that a chariot had been used.

And the Tyrell forces, which could not comprehend what they were, watched in unmitigated terror, as the columns of those chariots ran down their soldiers with ruthless aggression.

" **OH SHIT!"**

" **WHAT THE FUCK ARE THESE THINGS!?"**

" **DAMN! DAMN! DAMN!"**

Watching the disaster with horrified eyes, Baelor Hightower was the first commander to recover his wits.

"Oi! You infantry over there! Get out of the way!"

But his words fell on deaf ears, as the said soldiers in blind panic, began to run wherever they could to escape, ignoring any orders they received. They did not care at that point, they just wanted to survive. However, it would be for naught. In front of the horrified eyes of their commanders, those men were literally crushed beneath the hooves of the horses as well as the wheels of the chariots, with their bodies being crushed and mangled beyond recognition.

In perfect synchronization, the column of chariots turned around, and retraced their path backwards, running over the already mangled field of flesh, subjecting it to another round of death. The few lucky soldiers who had survived the initial charge were now caught up in the charge again and were quickly killed.

"Gwah!"

"Ugh!"

"Shit!" Baelor cursed as he watched his men being wiped out. "What the hell are these things?" he looked around, only to see those massive horse-drawn wooden wagons crushing all men before them.

"Protect the Lord!" his men gathered around at his spot, even as he began to rapidly devise a plan to stop this rout.

"No! I am fine! More importantly, look to our foot soldiers…," he ordered as he began to move.

* * *

On the other side, from atop his siege tower, Quentyn watched the slaughter dispassionately. As his uncle Manfrey looked at him to express his wonder at the scene before him, he just shook his head and replied, "the battlefield provides a sort of 'pleasure' that is difficult to find elsewhere. And for a strategist, that pleasure is the sensation of controlling thousands of men with only your mind to one-sidedly butcher the opposition."

Just as Quentyn had said, his tactics were able to control the entire battlefield as easily as if he were moving pieces aboard a board game, efficiently striking down masses of Tyrell soldiers. In that chaotic scene of combat, the Dornish army had actually positioned themselves in such a way that they had split the field into a number of sections. While on the surface, it looked like the archers were only trying to kill the Tyrell soldiers, in truth, their real goal was to herd the Tyrell forces closer together. Thus, allowing the war chariots to rampage through the path strewn with Tyrell troops.

Naturally, the Tyrell host was not aware of this at all since they were enveloped in a cloud of smoke. They could only weather the attacks of chariot after chariot. Though it was not visible from outside the smoke, the Tyrell's had already sustained massive casualties, meaning mountains of corpses.

* * *

"Lord Florent!" Baelor shouted towards the cavalry commander as he made his towards the weary cavalry commander.

"I have a plan to stop the enemy!" Baelor shouted out, even as all the leaders converged on his spot.

"We will make noise ourselves to confuse the enemy," Baelor pointed out, even as the eyes of the other leaders widened.

"Confuse them?"

"That clanging sound which we can hear occasionally is the thing that's relaying our position to the archers and to those cursed wooden battle wagons. So, all we need to do is to let off a similar sound to interfere with their communication. What's more is that if we are able to decode the rules for their signals we might be able to control and redirect the momentum of their archers and battle wagons ourselves and force them to turn upon their own forces!" Baelor finished quickly, and as the other leaders heard his plan, a flicker of hope came within their eyes.

"All right! You heard him! Look around for anything that can make a similar sound and have them go to town on it! Or find one of those damn Dornish sound teams and kill them all and take their bells! Go! Go! Go!" Alester Florent ordered as all his men raced out in different directions trying to find the elusive Dornish sound teams.

"Speaking of which, what on earth is that low ringing sound we have been hearing from the start?" Merrel Florent asked with consternation, as he strained his ears to listen to said sound.

"It's probably instructions from the commander of the Dornish army. Chances are it's sending out signals for even more large-scale orders."

At that Alester Florent jerked and stopped in his path, his eyes wide in realization.

"Baelor!" he whirled around, with tension rife in his tone, "did you just say that's a signal coming from the commander of the Dornish army?"

At the blank look on the Hightower heir's face at his question, Alester replied with a savage grin, "In other words, if what you are saying is true, the place that is giving off that sound is the location of the supreme commander of the Dornish army?"

At that, the eyes of everyone widened.

 _Could it be?_

 _Does he intend to target Quentyn Martell himself during such dire straits?_

Alester turned around to his nephew, "Merrel, you have spent your life hunting in the mountains of the Reach! Your hearing has got to be better than ours! Can you figure out where the Dornish commanders are sending out their signals from?"

"There is no need to ask, uncle, my fellow hunters call me 'the ear who hears even the flapping of wings'. I can take you there, I only wish this had occurred to me sooner," Merrel replied, with a look of exultation upon his face.

* * *

At the Tyrell headquarters, atop the mountains overviewing the battlefield, the mood was tense.

Just a few moments ago, news had come that Lord Branston Cuy, the overall commander of the Vanguard, had been slain in the very initial moments of the Dornish charge, and that the battle had been purely held solely due to the presence of Alester Florent's cavalry. Lord Hightower was staring grimly at the smoke covered battlefield, even as there was a steady stream of messengers bringing in news of disasters one after the other.

"Is our 2nd wave just going to remain here? It's true that we can't see the situation, but there is no doubt that our men must be struggling," Ser Axell Florent, brother of Alester Florent asked in consternation, even as Ser Aerys Oakheart watched the battle with a grim visage.

"It's hard to say," replied Ser Aerys. "As long as we are unable to see what's going on, we won't be able to discern where or how to send the reinforcements. But that smoke is no ordinary smokescreen, is it? If the Dornish soldiers are able to fight within that haze, it must serve some purpose. To have used a tactic like that, this Prince of Dorne is quite peculiar. Most likely, Lord Hightower is not debating whether to send in the 2nd wave or not, but rather to have the 1st wave pull out or not, is the main question in his mind right now."

* * *

At the opposite end of the field, on the Dornish side, within each unit were men specifically trained to discern the sound signals being emitted throughout the battlefield.

As Manfrey Martell began to hear sounds that were contrary to pre-arranged signals, he realized that their trick had been found out.

 _That's not the right rule for the signal. So, the Tyrell army has started making their own signals to confuse us. Curse them…_

"Send the signal to switch our sound signals to all units," he ordered his men, when a sudden sound interrupted his thoughts.

"What the …," Manfrey Martell could not even gather his thoughts as Baelor Hightower's sword cleanly separated his head from his body, while his men were set upon by the bloodthirsty cavalry unit of the Florent's which galloped out of the hazy smokescreen and were massacred to a man.

The infantry unit assigned behind Manfrey Martell's cavalry raised the alarm as they noticed the Tyrell cavalry.

"T-Tyrell horsemen!?'

"On your guard, we have run into a Dornish infantry unit!"

"Hoooah!"

"Go! Go! Go! Break right through them!"

"Uoooh! Stop them! Stop those horsemen here!"

The battlefield descended into a chaotic melee, as the Tyrell horsemen began to hack through the Dornish infantry unit which had been demoralized upon witnessing Manfrey Martell's death.

As they made their way forward, Baelor's mind recalled the plan which they had made.

* * *

 _"We will take all the remaining cavalry with us! With the death of Lord Cuy and his nephew, the infantry has been stopped cold, and with the assault of these battle wagons, they are too disorganized to be of any use. Instead, the infantry will use the corpses all around them to build up a temporary barricade behind which they can take a respite," Alester Florent decided quickly and decisively._

 _"A moment, Lord Alester," Baelor spoke out._

 _"What is it?"_

 _"Even if we are able to reach Quentyn Martell, our cavalry number 1000 at the most! Not to mention, we have no idea how many men will be defending their command post. In the event that we are unable to break through the enemy forces to reach their commander, even our cavalry will not be able to return back with all this smoke around us. And if that happens, then we will be completely split up and at the mercy of the Dornishmen."_

 _"In this instance," he continued, "We should instead send word to my father and ask for further cavalry reinforcements…"_

 _"We don't have time for something like that," Alester retorted harshly, "If we waste our time in sending a message to Lord Leyton, the messenger would have to successfully make his way out of this death trap of a battlefield first, and by the time the reinforcements arrive, the entire 1st wave will have been wiped out to the last man!"_

 _"But …"_

 _"Baelor! A force of 1000 cavalry is not something to be brushed aside so easily! It is an existence that can upset the tide of an entire battle if utilized properly. Now is that time! We will lead our forces to victory in this opening engagement with our own two hands!"_

 _"Fuu, it seems that I cannot stop you," Baelor sighed, even as Alester replied back, "Yeah, even if you men will not join us, we will still go ahead!"_

 _"Surely, you jest, Lord Florent! We are the men of the Reach! We will follow our leaders wherever they go, no matter the cost!" Baelor replied, even as all the men around gave a lusty cheer. Soon, the entire force reorganized itself and began a ferocious charge._

* * *

"Do not stop!"

"Forward!"

"Kill the Dornish scum!"

Leading the very front of the charge, Merrel Florent was guiding them slowly but surely at the exact location of Quentyn Martell's location, by divining the location of his post, by listening to the sounds of the battle gongs. And thus, the leaders of the Tyrell army finally came face to face with the leaders of the Dornish army for the first time during the battle.

"Gah! The smoke's getting thicker and thicker around here!" Baelor spoke out even as he covered his nose and mouth.

"It means we are drawing close to the source of the smoke!" one of the Florent soldiers replied with a savage grin on his face.

"Ha-ha! Who would have thought that this trick of theirs would backfire like this? I am looking forward to seeing the look on the face of that Martell brat when he sees us suddenly pouring out of the smoke," Lord Alester replied, even as he urged his horse forward faster.

"We do not know how many defenders they still have…" Baelor cautioned, even as he too moved forward.

"We will know soon, we are here…," Merrel Florent mentioned, as the entire force burst out of the smoke into a clear area.

Immediately, their eyes widened in shock as they noticed a wall of infantry, more than a thousand at first glance, holding and manning a wall of wooden palisades, forming a block around the entire Dornish formation. Inside the box were archers beyond count, all aiming their bows at them.

At the centre of the formation was a single siege tower, and standing atop it was a boy, who could only be Quentyn Martell.

" **FOOLS,** " they could clearly hear the words and the contempt coming out of the boy's mouth as a black cloud of arrows descended upon them blotting out the very skies.

* * *

Author's note: Next Chapter, The Deadly Conclusion!


	11. The Battle of Starpike - Conclusion

**The Battle of Starpike – Conclusion**

* * *

As the battle raged on, Quentyn was distracted by a different set of chimes, as opposed to the pre-set tones he had arranged. As he recalled what this set of sounds were for, his eyes narrowed as he considered the ramifications.

"My Lord, that is the signal for …"

" **I know! Stop bringing up every last thing!"** he snapped, mostly at the irritation of the fact that Manfrey Martell had fallen. Another of his father's relatives was now dead. This would not go unanswered.

 _So, we have an idiot that is actually targeting the enemy commander without even scouting his defences first. They probably hope to use this smoke to catch us off guard. Too obvious. Far too obvious. Even my sound teams are equipped with fast defensive measures. Tyrell's, learn this lesson well … Warfare is not so simple that you can rely on mere momentum alone!_

"Have all archers aim at the ground in front of the smoke two thousand yards ahead! Defensive teams to the front!" he ordered, even as his men stepped forward and assumed positions.

Sure enough, with a roar, a Tyrell cavalry unit burst out of the smoke. As soon as they burst out, he gave the order and his archers launched a volley of arrows that fell right into the heart of the enemy formation.

* * *

The initial volley of arrows broke the momentum of the cavalry charge splendidly. Men and horses alike fell in vast numbers, and the chief casualty among them was Merrel Florent who had been leading the charge. He had been hit by more than 20 arrows and there was no saving him.

Recognizing the threat, Baelor Hightower warned Alester Florent, "Our surprise attack has failed! We should withdraw and regroup ourselves and then –"

"Ngh!" Alester grunted in anger even as he beheld the corpse of his nephew. "No! We have to keep charging! Look! The enemy does not have a large number of infantry with him, and half of what he has are holding up those flimsy palisades! One charge and we will break them!"

"Understood! Then Lord Florent, please fall back two or three ranks, let the men take the front!"

"Don't be stupid! It's only because I am at the very front that everyone is able to keep running forward!" he roared, even as his men grinned and followed him.

"ONWARD! MEN OF THE REACH! Hoooah!" he roared, even as his men rearranged themselves into a wedge-shaped formation, to better breach the enemy fortifications, with Alester leading the front and Baelor bringing up the rear-guard.

* * *

As he looked at the incoming formation, Quentyn frowned and upon recognizing the sigil on the leader's armour, he calmly ordered, "Aim for the man leading at the front."

"Yes, My Lord!"

Recognizing the threat, from the other end, Baelor ordered two his men, "Gwynn and Gwen, go ahead and guard Lord Florent! Now!"

At that, two burly soldiers from the Hightower guards raced forward and placed themselves in front of Alester Florent.

"Quit doing this unnecessary shit, you idiots!" Lord Florent growled, even as the two men brought out two huge iron shields and held them in front creating a miniature barricade in front of them, even as their horses charged forward.

"It seems you do not understand your own position, My Lord," Gwynn, the man on the left smirked, even as the other Gwen, continued, "If we lose you here, our army dies!"

"That's right!" Gwynn roared even as he charged forward.

"If you understand that much, then use us as your shields and move forward!"

"Ha-ha! It looks it was worth spending all that money on these armoured shields, eh, Gwen? Now, come and shoot as many arrows as you can at us, you Dornish bastards!"

* * *

On the opposite side, the commander of the archers noticed the new additions to the forefront of the approaching charge and issued a new order.

"Concentrate all arrows on those three horsemen in the front!"

Six thousand bowmen now trained their sights on the very forefront of the approaching cavalrymen.

"Fire!"

On the opposite side, the two huge tower shields held by the men Gwen and Gwynn were peppered with so many arrows that the shields did not have a single empty spot upon them. But, they had done their job. Lord Alester Florent was unharmed.

The same could not be said of the two men who held those shields however. Gwen and Gwyn, each had been hit by arrows, even though their bodies were covered by the shields, Gwen had been hit in his left eye, and had died instantly, his body still atop his horse, and his hand holding his shield limply, about to fall any moment. Gwyn had an arrow in his neck and was bleeding out rapidly.

"Go, My Lord! We are counting on you take the enemy commander's head!" and with these parting words, the man Gwyn, passed away.

After sparing a glance tinged with respect at their sacrifice, Alester Florent moved ahead without respite.

The distance had been closed. Recognizing that, Dornish spearmen stepped forward.

"Archers! Fall back! Spearmen to the front!"

"Enemy spearmen have approached the front!" one of the Florent cavalrymen shouted out in warning.

" **WHO CARES ABOUT THEM! BLOW THEM AWAY!"** Alester roared in anger as his men charged.

* * *

As the enemy cavalry approached, the soldiers surrounding Quentyn were calmly preparing to receive the charge head-on.

"They're almost here!"

"Are we ready?"

"Idiots to the extreme!" Quentyn sighed in disappointment as he looked at the advancing cavalrymen.

At his signal, all the spearmen who had come to the forefront of the formation dropped their spears and knelt down and yanked upon a set of ropes lying on the ground in front of them, and at once, an entire array of wooden stakes rose up from the ground to form a wooden picket _ **(AN: Imagine the scene from Braveheart where the enemy cavalry crashes into the wooden picket, this is something like that)**_ with the sharp wooden stakes pointing towards the incoming cavalry charge.

With a thunderous crash, the Tyrell cavalry forces crashed headlong into that death trap, before they could even realize what was happening. Lord Alester Florent was literally thrown into the air from his horse, and tumbled down roughly into the ground, breaking his left arm in the process.

The entire front wave of the cavalry, more than 400 men and horses had run headlong into the wooden picket and had perished. The sight made a gruesome scene with men and horses impaled with extreme prejudice upon the wooden stakes. The air was rife with the sound of men and horses screaming in pain.

Even as his ears ringed, Alester Florent could only watch helplessly as his men were massacred.

 _What … what just happened?_

 _What … what the hell is that?_

At the rear guard, Baelor had barely managed to stop the rear half from running into the same blockade with a herculean effort. With his eyes wide with terror, the Hightower looked at the gory scene, and barely managed to push down the bile that had risen in his throat.

 _They had … something like that hidden in the ground!?_

 _Monster … Prince Quentyn Martell … he…he is a monster!_

* * *

Needless to say, the reason why Quentyn's command unit had so little defenders was because he had already prepared numerous defensive mechanisms beforehand. An anti-cavalry picket trap was laid out in front of his position. Thanks to this trap, The Tyrell cavalry's vanguard was completely wiped out, leaving only a handful of survivors.

Furthermore, they were also cut off from the rest of their comrades in the rear guard. Ultimately, this resulted in the situation where Lord Alester Florent and thirty of his surviving men, were left trapped inside the enemy formation of two thousand spearmen.

Despite this tremendous setback, Alester Florent's determination did not die, "Don't waver! The enemy commander has come into sight!" he roared and tried to stand up, despite having his left arm broken, while Quentyn Martell looked at him dispassionately.

"You men just don't understand at all," he spoke, his tone piercing in intensity as he addressed Lord Florent and his men, who were looking at him, with hatred and fear mixed in their eyes.

"It is true that hot blooded types like you are easily able to reach the peak of their morale, but, on the other hand, the moment your confidence is broken," here he paused and looked at the enemies, who were truly on their last legs, with despair beginning to cloud their faces.

"You will fall into the absolute pit of despair and are unable to quickly rally yourself once again. That is the fatal weakness of soldiers who only rely on momentum, ever since ancient times. This has gone long enough, **FINISH THEM!** " he ordered, as his men stepped forward.

The Dornish spearmen began to advance in a line, with their spears pointed forward, and slowly Alester Florent's party began to dwindle as his men were slaughtered with methodical precision.

Lord Alester was in deep shock, the pain of his injuries, the loss of his men, all of them were taking their toll on his body at last.

 _How… how can this be?_

 _Is this place going to be our …?_

And at this moment, the one thing which even Quentyn had not counted upon occurred. For just the smallest of moments, the shifting winds caused the smoke to envelope the area to rear of Alester Florent and his men. And what was surprising, was the fact that out of the smoke rode out Ser Aerys Oakheart, with 500 fresh cavalrymen to the rescue of his comrades.

"WHAT!?"

"Whoa…who are they?"

"Stop them …"

The Dornish infantry line was completely taken aback, as the new forces began to systematically fall upon them, and they began to take casualties. Using this reprieve, Baelor Hightower and the rear guard of the 1st wave rode in and picked up the survivors and carried out them to safety.

"Pay no heed to our fellows in the first wave!" Aerys Oakheart roared, as he pointed his lance at Quentyn himself. "Our target, Quentyn Martell himself is right in front of us," he roared, even as his men shouted out in agreement and fell behind him as they moved forward.

* * *

"Impossible! We did not receive any signal announcing their arrival!" the infantry commander at the bottom of the siege tower complained, at which Quentyn narrowed his eyes at the new arrival.

 _Hoh, so they decided to thoroughly exterminate all sound teams before heading over here? And to do it silently, in such a short frame of time, a slightly promising enemy has shown up this time._

Meanwhile, Alester Florent had bandaged his arm, and after getting a fresh mount was returning to the field, with the remnants of his men. Even a broken arm would not dissuade him from returning to the field. Not that anyone would dare to attempt it in the first place at that point.

"Damn it, to be saved by that young stripling of an Oakheart! How humiliating!" he cursed out, even as he rode ahead, rallying his men forth.

"Baelor!" he called out, as he noticed the rear guard coming up, "You are all right?"

"The same to you, Lord Florent!"

"We imitated Aerys Oakheart's men and rode atop the corpses of friend and foe alike, to reach here!"

"All right!" Alester roared, "We did not sacrifice so much, only to let Oakheart steal all the glory! We are chasing after Quentyn Martell, we will be the ones to take his head!" he charged ahead, as all his men began to follow him.

Suddenly, new sounds began to permeate the battlefield, and before they could recover, the catapults from the walls of Starpike began a fresh round of bombardment. New jars began to burst on the ground, and a fresh haze of smoke enveloped the field again.

"Damn it! Those Dornish cowards are doing this again!"

"Is that sound trick of ours working?"

"No! they have changed everything!"

"Do not move! Wait for the smoke to settle, or you may hit our own men instead of the enemy!"

With their teeth grit, the companies of Aerys Oakheart and Alester Florent paused, as they could not take the risk of attacking in the thick haze of the smoke.

* * *

Once the smoke cleared a bit, the Tyrell forces were gobsmacked. The entire Dornish force had again retreated behind the wooden palisades, with the thousands of archers again manning the lines. A clear boundary had once again been established between the two forces.

The two Tyrell cavalry forces advanced a few hundred paces in tandem, in parallel columns, preparing for a fresh charge.

Atop his siege tower, Quentyn took stock of the situation.

"Didn't I already tell those fools! If they think that battles can be won just by relying on momentum alone, it is sheer folly."

Below his men were getting into position.

"5th and 6th squads, advance!"

"7th and 8th squads, fan out!"

More and more infantry streamed out and took up a guarding position in front of the palisades.

A cry went out among the Tyrell forces.

"Enemy reinforcements have arrived!"

"Doesn't matter! Get ready!"

"The enemy commander is within our sight!"

At that moment, Quentyn would splendidly betray the expectations of all men upon the battlefield with his next move.

"Are the preparations complete?" he asked his men below.

"Yes, My Lord."

" **VERY GOOD. GIVE THE ORDER. LET US RETREAT."**

As one, the Dornish force made an about turn and began a steady retreat, with the 6000 archers acting as rear guards.

As expected, this threw the Tyrell side's reactions completely aside.

" _What!"_

" _Whoa …"_

" _Huh?"_

" _They … are running away?"_

 _What is going on? He still has thousands of soldiers defending him and yet he is running away? Is this a new trap?_

On the other side, Quentyn issued a new order. "Ring the gongs, ordering all forces to withdraw. This battle is over."

Having received the signal, all the Dornish forces over the entire battlefield began to withdraw.

"L-Look, all the Dornish forces are withdrawing!"

"We…we managed to drive them back, after all!"

"Ha-ha, yeah … we forced Quentyn Martell to run away!"

Despite all this jubilation, Alester Florent's eyes were riveted upon the back of the young prince of Dorne. He, and perhaps young Oakheart and Baelor were the only three men who had realized what was going on.

* * *

Meanwhile, atop the walls of the castle, William Dayne who had returned earlier was observing the battle below.

"As a strategist, the young prince does not act as befitting a warrior. If the enemy draws near, he will retreat. That is all, however, he will retreat only after the task is accomplished, and that is the mentality of a warrior. As befitting someone, who is both a strategist and a warrior, a conundrum if I have ever seen it," he mused, even as the army began to stream back to the castle.

* * *

Below on the field, Quentyn was quietly musing to himself.

 _Speaking honestly, I would have preferred to devastate them for another hour. But I suppose this is acceptable to, having exterminated around 80% of their forces. One must not be too greedy after all. A desperate animal fights the hardest. Letting them escape is the best thing to do at this point._

"MY LORD!" one of his men screamed suddenly, and Quentyn turned around, only to see a lone horseman riding towards them, with a lance in hand. With a desperate heave, the man threw his lance, but it was obvious that he was too heavily injured, and the aim was wide off the mark. It harmlessly flew through the air, and fell a few hundred yards in front of Quentyn, who calmly gazed at the man.

It was Alester Florent.

He gave a short bow of respect to the man, acknowledging the effort and then, he was gone from sight.

On the field, Baelor Hightower had ridden up to the man.

"My Lord! Let it go! You cannot be so reckless with your life! You can no longer reach the Prince of Dorne. More importantly, we have already done enough by forcing him to retreat!"

" **IT'S NOT ENOUGH AT ALL! DAMN IT MAN! WHAT FORCED HIM TO RETREAT? HAVE NONE OF YOU REALIZED IT YET? WE HAVE BEEN COMPLETELY CRUSHED BY THAT ACCURSED BRAT!"**

The reality was just as Alester Florent had said.

The moment the smoke covering the battlefield had lifted, the Tyrell army was left dumbstruck at the sight of the catastrophic number of casualties they had taken. They had suffered an enormous defeat without even realizing it. From the very first clash, the Reach had been dealt a death blow.

The Tyrell army which suffered a devastating loss in the opening battle, set up Alester Florent, Baelor Hightower and Aerys Oakheart as the heroes of the battle in order to preserve morale. Word was endlessly repeated that the three of them had forced Quentyn Martell to retreat. Though the troops themselves had realized that they had been defeated thoroughly, they still cheered in a desperate attempt to rouse themselves.

As they walked through the lines of cheering soldiers, Alester Florent was beyond himself, "Damn, this is more like a walk of shame! The idiots who let the enemy commander escape! We will become the laughing stocks of the world!"

"It cannot be helped! The enemy we are up against is not an ordinary human being!" Baelor groused in disgust.

"At any rate, this war is going to become far uglier before it ends," Aerys concluded with a grim tone, as the three commanders made their way back to their tents to commiserate upon their failure.

* * *

Later, when the Maesters of the citadel would record the results of the battle, which would forever be immortalized, even they for a moment were stunned at the carnage that had resulted. The total results were tabulated thus.

 **The Tyrell Army**

Supreme Commander: Lord Leyton Hightower

 _Notable commanders_

 _Lord Alester Florent (Wounded in Battle)_

 _Lord Branston Cuy (Killed in Battle)_

 _Ser Emmon Cuy (Killed in Battle)_

 _Ser Aerys Oakheart (Wounded in Battle)_

 _Ser Baelor Hightower (Wounded in Battle)_

 _Ser Colin Florent (Killed in Battle)_

 _Ser Merrel Florent (Killed in Battle)_

 **Total casualties**

12,217 men out of 15,000

9,643 infantries out of 10,000 killed (Absolute destruction)

2,574 cavalries out of 5,000 killed (Half destroyed)

 **The Dornish Army**

Supreme Commander: Prince Quentyn Martell

 _Notable commanders_

 _Prince Quentyn Martell_

 _Lord William Dayne_

 _Ser Manfrey Martell (Killed in Battle)_

 **Total casualties**

936 men out of 15,000

621 cavalries out of 2,000 (A third lost)

315 infantries lost

In his notations, Archmaester Ebrose would record thus, " _The battle of Starpike would forever change the landscape of the entire world once its results were known. Gone were the memories of the legendary battles fought between the forces of Rhaegar Targaryen and the Rebellion. Even the Blackfyre rebellions had not wrought such devastation. The last time such devastation had been inflicted in Westeros was when the dragons of the Targaryen's still flew in the skies._

 _This was the most lopsided victory in the history of Westerosi warfare ever recorded, when considering the fact that it was a battle fought purely between humans on both sides. For a force of 15,000 soldiers to lose nearly 12,500 men and kill only 900 men out of an equal number of enemy soldiers was unprecedented and frankly, beggared belief. Indeed, Lord Mace Tyrell, the Lord Paramount of the Reach refused to believe that his forces could have been so decisively defeated. No matter the evidence presented, he obstinately refused to accept the result. It took the combined efforts of the entire nobility of the Reach to make him realize that indeed the Reach had suffered the greatest military defeat in the history of warfare, and that it had become a laughing stock in the eyes of the entire world._

 _These were summarized by the now iconic words of Lord Alester Florent who would forever be called 'The Relentless' for his dogged pursuit of Prince Quentyn Martell during the ill-fated battle, which forced him to realize the gravity of the situation._

" _ **Go and fight that monster yourself, you fat fool, and you will see the truth of it!"**_

 _They nearly came to blows at that point, and only the intervention of Lady Olenna Tyrell defused that situation._

 _On the other hand, Quentyn Martell had shot up in fame world wide over his stupendous victory. Envoys and spies from every city in Essos were dispatched to Dorne in haste to gather as much information as they could about the young Prince of Dorne._

 _This battle also finally alerted the Rebellion that they now faced a new foe, one who perhaps was a greater threat than the now dead Rhaegar Targaryen himself. The other events that later happened and soured the chances of any possibilities of peace between all parties ensured that it would be the Rebellion who would challenge the young Prince of Dorne next._

 _This would result in the legendary Battle of Bitterbridge where the Dornish Army would come up against the Lannister Army commanded by Ser Tygett Lannister. The events surrounding to the build-up, the actual battle, and its aftermath warrant a book in itself, and will be discussed in depth over there._

* * *

 **Author's note: Next Chapter! The World reacts!**


	12. Reverberations - Part 1

**Braavos, a week after the battle of Starpike**

* * *

As he was lounging around inside the stateroom of his mansion in Braavos, Prince Oberyn Martell was deep in thought over recent events.

Dorne.

That was the only thing that anyone could speak about in the last few days. Dorne. Starpike. Prince Quentyn Martell. These were the only things that anyone either in Westeros or Essos would speak of from the last week onwards.

As the details about the now legendary battle of Starpike became known all over, it was as if someone had given the very world a gut-punch. A battle with such a lopsided result had not been seen since the fall of Valyria or after the death of the Targaryen dragons. His nephew had become one of the most sought-after beings in the world after his stupendous victory. 13,000 men killed against a loss of less than 900. Even the armies utilizing the famed Unsullied soldiers could not boast of such a result.

He grinned. Apparently, his nephew's memories from his previous life had granted him far more than one could have expected. Great Heaven indeed, Oberyn mused, _I wonder how it would have felt to fight in the battles he fought as Riboku. Armies numbering hundreds of thousands of men! It must have been a magnificent sight._

He was a little peeved of course. This was the greatest battle that Dorne had yet fought since the times of the conquest, and he had missed out on it. It rankled sorely, but remembering their end-game, he persevered. Lost as he was in his thoughts, he did not notice as his manservant came inside the room.

"My lord …"

"Hmm … yes, Uther, what is it?"

"Beg pardon, My Lord, but there are quite a few people who are here to visit you," the servant replied.

"Visitors at this time? Who?"

"Emissaries from the free cities, My Lord."

"The Free cities! Which ones?" Oberyn asked as he leaned forward in interest.

"Uhm … all of them, I think …" was the reply.

Oberyn was dumbfounded. "All of them?", he asked in a hoarse tone, at which the servant nodded in agreement.

"Well … fuck," he responded, as his mind began to race through the implications. It would appear that his nephew's victory had elicited a sort of competition between the free cities. Each wanted to be the first to approach him, and thought to approach Oberyn in the middle of the night itself to pre-empt others. Only thing was, all of them had thought in the same vein, and he now had a gaggle of visitors in the middle of the night.

"Admit them in, four at a time, by their order of arrival. And have some wine, and refreshments put out," he ordered, even as he stood up to prepare himself.

As he stood up, his eyes fell upon the message sent by Quentyn through raven, which had arrived three days prior.

 _When the meat lies red and raw upon the field, vultures will swarm. Kick out the vultures and take in the eagles which will also arrive. Quentyn._

* * *

 **THE IRON BANK, BRAAVOS, 3 days after the Battle of Starpike**

* * *

"We don't know for sure yet, but I am seriously concerned," Mario Dragar, the chief keyholder of the bank spoke, as he chaired the latest meeting of the main leaders of the Iron Bank's governing council.

"What is the particular problem today?" Bessaro Reyaan, one of the keyholders asked.

"We have a number of loans and other contracts due in Westeros in the coming months. Ordinarily I would expect them to proceed normally, but our spies warn that there might be a problem."

"Who are these spies?" Noho Dimittis, one of the representatives of the bank asked.

"Mainly minor sellswords and merchants, and also owners of whorehouses spread throughout the seven kingdoms. Almost all of them are Westerosi. But, they are wise in the ways of common men, and can learn a lot that eludes the notice of the nobles, and their advice is something that a wise man listens to carefully," Mario said soberly.

"Whoremongers are the curse of Westeros, nay, the world itself," Dimittis observed. An extraordinarily prude and conservative man, he abhorred such practices and openly reviled them.

"Perhaps so, noble Dimittis, but if you do business with Westeros, you need such people, and they are useful in explaining the conditions there. Whipping the messenger may get you more pleasant news, but it won't necessarily be accurate," Reyaan replied.

Dragar nodded and smiled at that. He like Reyaan. The man spoke the truth more truthfully than those who were supposed to listen for it. But he kept his peace.

"Anyways," he spoke up once more, "Our people report that we can now expect a renewed bout of warfare in Westeros, after the recent battle between the Dornish and the Reach. Our people estimate that it will be another 2 years before everything settles down. But there is one difference, this time they cannot predict who will win," he concluded crossly, as the faces of the others in the room darkened at the news.

"Just when we thought that everything would settle down, this boy-prince has upset everything," Reyaan observed dispassionately. "All that anyone can say is that if he had thrown in his lot with Rhaegar Targaryen during the battle of the trident, then things would have been very, and I mean very, different."

"It does us no good to ponder upon past events. Let us look to the here and now," Dragar curtly ended that line of conversation.

"With this renewed bout of hostilities, we must think to our own stake in this matter. We agreed to fund the Rebel forces in Westeros upon the guarantee that the new dynasty in Westeros would bank exclusively with us, and on the condition that they repay all the debts that House Targaryen held with us. These were the terms agreed to between us and Jon Arryn of the Vale as the representative of the Rebellion. All of which is now in jeopardy, because of the boy-prince in Dorne," Dragar concluded.

"With the renewed bout of hostilities by Dorne, and against their own erstwhile companions during the Rebellion, the Reach, we can safely conclude that we are no longer dealing with a Rebellion in Westeros, but a civil war," Dimittis observed.

"Agreed," Dragar nodded his head in acceptance, "Which makes our situation even more perilous. There can be no doubt that the boy-prince is waging this war not for the sake of vengeance for his foster mother and dead cousins as everyone in Westeros believes, but to secede Dorne from the Iron Throne and re-establish it as an independent kingdom."

"And if that happens," Reyaan concluded, "it is safe to assume that Dorne will no longer pay its share to the coffers of the Iron Throne, the same coffers from which the Iron Throne repays our debts. We are looking at a very steep loss here."

"How much does Dorne pay as its share in the debt of Westeros?" Dimittis asked.

"Ever since the reign of Aegon the third, House Targaryen has deliberately reduced the amount of money it borrows from the Iron Bank. Even the notorious mad king distrusted us, especially since we had a dispute with the Iron throne over the debts of his father, King Jaehaerys. As of now, the Iron throne is in debt to us for the tune of two million golden dragons, of which Dorne is liable for five hundred thousand, all of which we can expect to write off as a loss if Dorne manages to secede from the Iron Throne," Reyaan replied.

"That cannot be allowed. A loss of that magnitude will make us look weak in the eyes of the world. It matters not to us who sits on the Iron throne as long as we get our due. Dorne must be made aware of this," Dragar concluded, but paused as he noticed a servant arrive and hurriedly pass a note to Dimittis.

Dimittis opened the note and began to read. His face began to colour up as he read through the contents and with a roar, he banged his hand on the table. "This is lunacy," he growled, even as the others looked at him askance.

"Anything you would like to share with us, noble Dimittis?" Reyaan asked quietly, while Dragar became silent.

"The boy-prince of Dorne it seems, has approached the Rogare bank of Lys, for negotiations to fund his war," he all but snarled, as the others in the room stared at him in shock.

"This is a message from the boy to the world, of that, there can be no doubt," Reyaan retorted harshly after reading through the message.

"Message? Regarding what?" Dimittis asked crossly.

"That Dorne is now breaking up with the Iron throne. And more specifically, it is meant as a warning to us," Dragar spoke in a cold tone. "The Rogare bank is our ancient enemy. During the regency of Aegon the third, the Rogare bank eclipsed even us, but fell into decline after that period. This is a warning to us by Prince Quentyn Martell. As we are known as the financial backers of Robert Baratheon, he has now approached our rivals to fund his own war campaign. It serves two purposes. It is a declaration to the world that Quentyn Martell has now directly challenged Robert Baratheon and Eddard Stark. It is also a declaration to us, that though we may be the largest bank in the world, **we are not the only ones**. He has no intention of honouring the debts that the Iron Throne has, and is telling the world that he does not recognize the debts of the Iron Bank," Dragar concluded, while the others simmered in anger.

"Can he prevail against Robert Baratheon and Eddard Stark?" Dimittis asked after a few minutes of silence.

"If you had asked me this before the Battle of Starpike, I would have said no. But now, I honestly cannot say," Reyaan replied with a shrug.

"Then our course is clear," Dragar replied, "A messenger must be sent to Quentyn Martell, to remind him that the Iron Bank will not tolerate the reneging of our debts. The Iron Bank will have its due."

"I will so inform Tycho Nestoris," Reyaan replied with a nod. "He is coming along nicely in his training as an envoy for Westeros. He will do well. Oberyn Martell is still in Braavos. We can approach the boy-prince through his uncle."

"See to it," Dragar ordered and concluded the meeting.

* * *

 **The Hightower Host, Tyrell Army, Starpike camp, 3 days after the battle**

* * *

The plains of Starpike burned. Great plumes of greasy, black smoke rose up into the clear sky. The fields were littered with broken bodies, of men and animals alike. Thousands of broken weapons lay scattered upon the field. The shattered husks of dead soldiers roared with flames as the living worked in a feverish pitch to burn the dead, as there was a real risk of disease and plague running rampant if all the dead carrion was not disposed of in due haste.

In Leyton Hightower's tent, the remnants of the Tyrell war council convened. Leyton and his son Baelor, Alester Florent, Axell Florent and Aerys Oakheart were all that remained. House Cuy and nearly half the members of House Florent who had perished in the battle were conspicuous with their absence.

"We have formed a separate detachment to roam throughout the battlefield to search for any survivors. The healers are already being overworked beyond capacity. As many of our men who can be spared for assistance have been ordered to assist," Baelor reported, as the others listened.

"We have sent word to the citadel for extra maesters and acolytes to help, but it is doubtful if they can arrive in time to help," he concluded and sat down.

Leyton remained quiet. His eyes wandered over to the empty chairs which were used by the now deceased members of his war council.

"We need to decide our next course of action," Alester Florent replied, his injured arm tied up in a sling, but his eyes were still alert.

"I have informed Mace of what has happened here," Leyton replied after a moment's silence. "I only hope that his mother can restrain him from doing anything more foolish."

The reaction to that sentence was muted and punctuated by a few derisive scoffs.

"We have sent requests for reinforcements from all nearby Reach Lands. It will take time to reorganize. Even though half our force is still intact, they are now next to useless. They are very disheartened and frightened. If we force them to battle again, we run a real risk of mutiny," Aerys Oakheart replied, at which all members in the room grimaced.

"I severely underestimated the boy. And thousands of innocent Reach men have paid the price," Leyton sighed heavily.

"You are not the only one," surprisingly, this came from Alester Florent. "None of us expected this …," he paused as he struggled to find words to explain what they had suffered.

Leyton nodded, "I fear we will need Randyll Tarly himself to come and deal with this. I know when I am outmatched. I cannot prevail against this boy. His abilities are beyond mine by a very long shot. I will only be harming us if I take to the field against him again," he concluded dispassionately.

There was an awkward pause before it was broken by Aerys Oakheart.

"If I may ask, what were our losses in men and material?"

"Final numbers are not out yet, but out of 15,000 men, over 12,000 are dead," replied Axell Florent who was in charge of organizing the army. "We can further expect it to increase as it is obvious that quite a few of the wounded will succumb to their injuries as well. Strategically speaking, we have lost over half of our force in the opening battle."

"It is still an overwhelming loss, not seen since the Gardener Kings were wiped out in the Field of Fire," Alester pointed out. "I am worried about morale. The whole of the Reach will be seen as ripe for pickings by everyone, and not just the Ironborn. Pirates, Slavers, Raiders all of them will try to take their pound of flesh from us now."

"How will the forces of the Rebellion react to this, I wonder? Can we expect any aid from them, now that Mace has bent the knee to them?" Axell Florent asked.

"No," Leyton replied. "They will not move nor will they aid us. For now, they will observe keenly and make a move only after the Dornish and Ironborn make their next move. For now, we are alone, my lords."

At that moment, Leyton's squire entered the tent and bowed. All conversation ceased.

"Yes, Andar, what is it?" Leyton asked the boy who seemed nervous.

"My Lord, we have received a message from Prince Quentyn Martell," he replied, flinching at the immediate glares that were levelled at him, even as he passed a message scroll to Leyton Hightower.

"And what does the _Monster of Dorne_ want from us?" Alester asked in a carefully calm tone, while the others tensed as Leyton Hightower began to read the scroll in silence.

"He wishes to meet with me and my war council to discuss matters of mutual interest. He offers bread and salt and states that he will be waiting in the middle of the battlefield. He says that he will bring 50 guards, and that we shall be allowed the same. If we breach this, then he says the battle will continue," Leyton replied with surprise evident in his voice as he read through the message.

"What will we do, my Lord?" Aerys asked after a moment's pause.

"We will go and see what the Prince of Dorne wants," Leyton concluded, and everyone got up.

* * *

Two hours later, in the middle of the battlefield, the leaders of the Dornish and the Tyrell armies met. On one side was Quentyn Martell, accompanied by William Dayne, and the entire Tyrell leadership on the other side, each with 50 guards as agreed. Both sides stood silent, gazing at the others and trying to get their measure.

Then Quentyn snapped his fingers, and a servant dismounted from his horse, and brought out a plate from his satchel and placed bread and salt upon it and approached the Tyrell commanders.

As the servant approached, Quentyn spoke, "Lord Leyton, it would be a terrible misunderstanding if you thought there was poison in the bread and salt that is being offered. But to put your heart at ease, I will partake it first to prove our sincere intentions to talk in earnest, if you so desire."

Leyton's eyebrows rose while his men fidgeted. "I have never thought of such a thing. You there, bring the plate here," he ordered the servant, who came forward. He took a piece of bread and dipped it in salt and ate it. Soon afterwards, both sides followed suit.

During that period, a few servants had brought out a few small but sturdy chairs, and placed them on the ground. Soon Quentyn and William Dayne sat on one side, while the rest of the Tyrell contingent sat on the other side.

"Now then, Prince Quentyn, let us hear your intentions," Leyton Hightower spoke, while an eerie silence befell the area.

"Lord Hightower, I do not believe further strife would benefit us, should we continue this war. As such, I am now offering to negotiate peace with the Reach," he spoke in a smooth tone, while everybody on the other side jerked back in shock.

"Then evidently, you have realized the futility of this war," Leyton spoke with as much dignity as could be mustered. "Though you have won this battle, and won it magnificently, the Reach still can call upon far more reserves and has far more material reserves to wage war. Even if this war continues to wage for five years, the Reach will never surrender," he concluded curtly, while his companions nodded in agreement.

"Besides, Prince Quentyn, you were the one who started this war in the first place, by invading us treacherously. If you wish to stop the fighting, then it is for you to retreat."

At that, Quentyn laughed with mirth, which righteously offended the other side. After a moment, Quentyn composed himself and spoke, "My apologies, My Lord, that was ill done. But when you speak of treachery, that is a two-sided blade that stabs both sides. All I did was invade you before you could treacherously invade us, as per the advice of the good Lady Olenna," he concluded, while the Lords of the Reach jerked back in shock.

"Come now, My Lords, it is not that big of a surprise, one does not need a spy to predict the behaviour of the Matriarch of the Reach. It is remarkably easy to predict the steps a woman will take when she decides to wage war. After the death of my uncle, Prince Lewyn, and the banishment of my other uncle, Prince Oberyn, to Braavos, she had theorized that Dorne had no capable commanders standing up to Randyll Tarly. And if you were to invade and subjugate us for Robert Baratheon, then you would get in his good graces the same way that Tywin Lannister did after butchering Rhaegar's family. You would escape harsh penalties for daring to siege Storm's end. At least that was the conclusion she came to, am I not right, Lord Leyton?" he asked with a casual shrug.

Lord Leyton and his fellows were dumbfounded, and a few had become slack jawed. The boy had repeated word for word the same facts that Olenna Tyrell had spoken during the council of Highgarden when they had received the news of the invasion of Starpike.

"How did you know …" Axell Florent whispered hoarsely, while the others were thunderstruck.

"Come now, Lord Florent," Quentyn replied casually, "Above all, a woman like Olenna Tyrell is concerned with gaining the maximum benefits for minimum loss. In essence, she is like a fisherwoman haggling for the best price for her fish. Robert Baratheon may have accepted the Reach's surrender, but there is still bad blood between them and your people because of the siege of Storm's End. By conquering Dorne, she was trying to gain favour in the new regime, perhaps a position in the small council, with one of her daughters married to Robert's brother Stannis and some lands from Dorne added to the reach. As such, she concluded that this is a worthwhile venture, much to be gained and little to lose," he explained, while the leaders of the Reach shuffled awkwardly, at having their barest thoughts laid bare for all and sundry to hear.

"Unfortunately for her, she is hilariously easy to predict. I knew that she would do this, and therefore I invaded Starpike to pre-empt her. And you now see the result. Olenna Tyrell may be well suited for inner palace intrigues, but that does not by any stretch make her another Visenya Targaryen or Nymeria Martell. She is not as capable as she thinks she is. Next time, I suggest you allow people who are capable of waging wars to make such plans, instead of leaving them in the hands of a woman, especially the one who caused you to lose the Rebellion in the first place," he ended with a curt tone, even as few of the Reach Lords faces coloured up.

"What do you mean by she caused us to lose the Rebellion?" Leyton Hightower asked after a moment, at which all the Lords of the Reach paused for a moment.

"Yes … boy, I too would like to hear of this," Alester Florent spoke, with his eyes having a curious glint to them, as he leaned forward, followed by the other Reach lords.

"Come now, my Lords, you should have all realized this by now," Quentyn waved his arms around, as if he was admonishing unruly children, "Simply put, what was the need for 60,000 men to surround a single castle? Even if it is a castle like Storm's end? A force of 10,000 would have been sufficient to ensure a siege and to prevent any reinforcements from reaching the Rebellion. Stannis Baratheon barely had enough men to man the walls of the castle. He couldn't have prevailed against those 10,000 men with the meagre number of men he had with him. With another 50,000 men at his hand, Rhaegar Targaryen could have wiped out the rebellion. But all of you sat at storm's end, feasting in front of the besieged castle. The Reach can call upon 100,000 men, and yet you summoned only 60,000 and the only thing you did was besiege a castle. Do you not find that strange? Why would Randyll Tarly, the only man in Westeros, who managed to defeat Robert Baratheon himself in battle simply stand aside in such a meaningless siege? All of you are Lords of the Reach, you should have realized the machinations of your liege lords by now," he concluded, even as the Reach Lords absorbed his words, and began to ponder upon them.

After a few minutes, their countenance changed, as they began to understand what Quentyn was trying to convey.

After a few moments, Alester Florent got up in a fury, and kicked his chair aside with a roar, "that miserable old shrew! That fucking cunt! I swear … that greedy mother and idiot son will be the ruin of the Reach!" he cursed up a storm, and began to swear uncontrollably. The others were far more restrained though.

"I see that you understand, My Lords," Quentyn spoke, "Simply put, under the Targaryen's the Tyrell's had gained no special favours, no royal marriages, no positions in the Kingsguard or the small council. If the rebels won, they would claim that they were only following orders under duress, and show that they simply besieged Storm's end, and caused no harm to Robert Baratheon's brothers. Weary of battle, and madly desiring peace, Jon Arryn would have accepted their terms and the Tyrell's would retain their lands and titles without losing anything. **Which has happened, I grant you**. This will give them an opportunity to ingratiate themselves with the new regime, as they try to raise themselves further. On the other hand, if the Targaryen's had won which is a moot point now, they would have given you the orders to storm Storm's end, and would have claimed that they had obeyed orders to the letter and would reap the rewards with minimal losses. Either way, they would be the only ones who would have lost the least in this war. It took me just half an hour to conclude these facts after reading the reports of the Rebellion," he finished, while the Lords of the Reach now looked very cross indeed.

"It is ironic," Quentyn paused before continuing, "if she had only permitted Tarly to join the battle of the trident, Rhaegar would have won, and House Tyrell would have reaped rewards beyond recognition. Despite all her scheming, she is remarkably short-sighted. She did not allow the Reach to fight in the Rebellion, and as a result lost far more than she has gained by remaining neutral," he concluded, at which the Reach Lords began to simmer in anger at the now revealed actions of the matriarch of the Tyrell house.

"While this is all very illuminating, Prince Quentyn, it still does not cleave to the matter at hand. What terms do you offer?" Lord Leyton spoke after a lengthy pause.

"It is simple, My Lord, I wish for equitable peace between us. To that extent, I will speak terms with Mace Tyrell only. I would ask you in good faith to convey my message, and ensure that he comes here to speak with me without his mother's presence. I do not want our negotiations to be ruined by his mother's overbearing interference."

There was silence as everyone digested those words.

"It is not easy, my good-son is a very prideful man," Leyton spoke with a very careful tone, "and I am afraid that after this battle, he will be even more recalcitrant to deal with you. It is going to be a monumental task just to get him to accept that we have lost this battle," he was remarkably understating the point that he had made, and he knew it. _Everyone present knew it_.

"I agree, which is why I will be making this offer. _I shall return Starpike to House Tyrell_ , regardless of whether he agrees to my terms or not. But that will be so, only if he comes to speak to me first. As long as he agrees to come and speak with me, I will return Starpike to the Reach. Whether he accepts my terms or not is immaterial. I have only two conditions. Mace Tyrell must come here to speak with me. And Olenna Tyrell must not be permitted to interfere. That is all."

In an instant, every Reach man shot up to his feet, looking at him in shock.

 **"WHAT?"**

 **"ARE YOU JOKING WITH US?"**

 **"DO YOU TAKE US FOR FOOLS?"**

"I never joke about such things, My Lord," Quentyn spoke softly, though his eyes had hardened as he gazed at all of his opponents.

"I mean every word I say," he finished softly, while the others looked at him dumbfounded.

"Why? You are the victor. What could you possibly gain by doing this?" Lord Leyton asked after deliberating upon the offer.

"I have my reasons, which you need not know. All I ask is that you convey my message to Mace Tyrell," he spoke and stood up, to indicate that the meeting was over.

"I will wait to hear from Mace Tyrell, Lord Hightower," Quentyn finished, even as he got up on his horse, and his retinue prepared to depart.

The Reach contingent stayed upon the field long after they had left, with their minds filled with far more questions than answers.

* * *

As they rode back, William Dayne asked Quentyn, "Is that wise? Offering Starpike back to House Tyrell like that?"

"It is not an issue," Quentyn replied after a moment, "Starpike was never my target from the beginning. My target has always been Mace Tyrell from the start."

William Dayne paused, and as he absorbed the words his face widened in shock, "Then … this battle was …,"

"A message to Mace Tyrell and to all of Westeros, that anyone who points their sword at Dorne will be destroyed. Frankly speaking, if I had asked for a meeting with Mace Tyrell before this battle," he paused, at which William Dayne nodded his head understanding the point.

"He would have laughed and ignored it outright, thinking you a green boy. Now …," he paused, as Quentyn continued.

"Now, there is no ruler, either in Westeros or Essos who will dare to ignore a message from me. They cannot afford to," he concluded with a smile, while William Dayne began to sweat as he understood the implications. _He butchered all those men, just to send a message. What a monstrous mind he has …_

"But why go for all this effort, to secure a meeting with Mace Tyrell?" William asked even as he swallowed nervously, at which Quentyn smiled.

"Because Mace Tyrell is a man who has been under the thumb of his overbearing mother for too long. That old shrew has always denigrated and humiliated her son in front of everyone as a means to retain her power over House Tyrell. And by doing so, she has destroyed any sense of self-worth or any latent abilities that Mace Tyrell may have. I need him to be away from her smothering influence for my plan to work."

"Which is why you went to such great lengths to explain the failings of the queen of thorns," William realized, as he eyed the prince with wonder in his face.

"Exactly," Quentyn nodded, "Now that at least some of the Lords of the Reach are aware of the failings of Olenna Tyrell, they will be keen to ensure that she does not damage the Reach's standing further. And Leyton Hightower is Mace Tyrell's good-father. He is not a man whose words Mace can ignore. Once he learns of this, he will come here to speak with me. He will have no choice. And I deliberately insisted that Olenna be left behind. If she now insists on coming, Mace will have no choice but to refuse her. If he does not, he will lose all respect and credibility in the eyes of his banner men. Enough to even risk his position as the ruler of the Reach. No, he cannot afford to ignore my invitation. He will come."

"And once he is here, without her presence …," William realized the implications.

"He will be far more susceptible to our words and our schemes, and can be persuaded to join us," Quentyn replied.

"Joi …," William Dayne paused in shock as he looked at his Prince.

"That was what you wanted all along! You never wanted Starpike. You have been after the whole Reach from the beginning!" he exclaimed, even as Quentyn smiled graciously and nodded.

"Despite the resources that we have gathered, and with all the new additions to our army, we are still outmatched by the Rebellion. I estimate that we can fight only two more battles on our own, before we run out of resources to wage a protracted war. But with the Reach and its resources on our side, we can win outright," Quentyn replied curtly.

"And if Olenna Tyrell were to realize this …," William Dayne paused, even as Quentyn continued.

"She would have extorted us to the hilt with unreasonable demands, in essence, she would have asked us to swear ourselves to her house in all but name, which I will not permit."

"So that is the reason why you discredited her in the eyes of the Lords of the Reach," William realized.

"Yes, and without her here to guide him, Mace Tyrell will be incapable of understanding these subtleties, which will make it far easier to convince him to join in an alliance with us," Quentyn replied.

"In the end, Lord Dayne, would you not say that it is a good deal to offer one castle and gain an entire kingdom in return without shedding any more blood? Especially when said castle was not even yours to begin with? Unlike a woman who is too cautious, this is how a real general wages war. Remember it."

* * *

 **Author's note:** More reactions next time, including House Lannister!


	13. Author's note

Everyone,

One of the main things i have realized as a fanfiction author is that I get the opportunity to correct any mistakes that I may make during writing, unlike an author who releases a finished product which cannot be corrected post-release of work.

I admit, that I did not think my concept of bringing in other generals from ancient china to act as a foil for my main character could be poorly received. My rationalization was that i needed them to ensure that this does not turn my character into a sort of overpowered gary-stu type character without any opposition.

One unintended consequence of bringing them in, which i did not realize was that it unbalanced the basic premise of my whole story. From beginning, this story was meant to explore how a general from ancient china would fare in westeros. To bring in more characters from that place into westeros would weaken the original premise was something that i forgot to take into account, being carried away by my thinking up of various plot lines.

I have removed the previous chapter, and will rework the last update to ensure that it properly sticks to the basic premise which i had originally envisioned. One of the benefits of writing in such a forum is that advice from other readers can bring a writer to focus properly, so that he can accept good advice when given.

This is the first serious work of fanfiction that i have attempted in a long time, and i do not wish to ruin it. So, I thank all my readers for their advice and contributions.

I will update it again once all revisions are done.

Thanks for your advice and support,

Regards,  
A.S.


	14. Interlude: The Jailed Knight & Burnt Boy

"Are you asleep?"

The words came from a tone unfamiliar to him, lacking in respect or restraint and jarred him awake. As he woke up, the prisoner looked at the one who had called for him, from the bars of his prison cell.

It was a boy, nearly seventeen to eighteen years of age, with an unusually robust build, one that would not have seemed out of place on a full-grown man. He was tall and muscular, coupled with keen eyes. But the most striking thing about him, was his face. Half of it had been burnt beyond recognition.

"Now, I am not," the prisoner replied with a curt tone, all drowsiness gone in an instant as he observed his visitor.

"I am at a loss, young man, who might you be?"

"There is no time for introductions, we may do all of it later, if we survive. For now, I will ask you this. Do you wish to escape?"

Instantly, the prisoner's eyes became wide and alert, and calculative.

"Of course, and I presume you wish to help me? You would not be here otherwise, I think …," the man replied coolly, to which the boy gave a grunt.

"I will help you escape, in return, you shall owe me a favour. If you agree to this we can leave now," the boy spoke without wasting time.

The man did not hesitate. He nodded his head in agreement. As soon as he did so, the boy moved swiftly from the door and returned. He dragged in a man, who was quite literally dead, and was in the garb of a gaoler. The boy knelt down and plucked a bunch of keys from the dead gaoler's belt and opened the door.

"Switch your clothes with this man, and drag him into your cell and lay him on the cot. Ensure that his face is towards the wall, and the back towards the cell gate," the boy instructed, at which the man smiled nostalgically.

"It is not my first time escaping a prison, boy, but I admit, last time it was me who was helping someone escape," the man chuckled, to which the boy grunted.

"I know."

* * *

Soon, the man had exchanged his clothes with the dead gaoler and had placed the corpse inside his cell, and both of the adventurers began to make their way out.

"Wear your face mask, that way no one will stop you," the boy advised. The man nodded in agreement and pulled out a facemask from the gaoler's pouch and covered the lower half of his face. Due to the decrepit nature of the black cells, it was not odd for its gaolers to wear a facemask to avoid the putrid stench within the building. The rotting smell of human waste and rotting dead bodies could be quite nauseating.

As they reached the entrance of the black cells, the boy casually walked out, and no one challenged him. Rather than that, they took a look at his face, and tried to keep out of his way which helped both of them immensely.

The man took note of it, although he remained quiet for a moment. He became apprehensive though, when they reached the part of the royal stables earmarked for House Lannister. Uncaring of his companion's turmoil, the boy released two horses and brought them back, and also brought out a sack from the corner.

"Your stuff," he gruffly retorted, to which the man grabbed it, and looked inside. Inside the sack was his armour, and his sword.

"The chief gaoler had it in his office, like some trophy. Fucking cunt, unless he won it off your corpse, he had no right to this," the boy spat, and strapped his own sword to his back. The man watched the boy with an inscrutable look on his face, and then picked up his own sword, and got on his horse.

"What about the armour?" the boy asked with a curious glance.

The man hardened his face, "It is worthless now." The boy nodded in agreement.

"We need to get out of the city now, we have till daybreak at best, before they find us," the boy spoke gruffly, and then, without any further ado, the two of them raced out.

As they made their way out, the prisoner observed, "You seem to have a remarkably free hand in moving throughout the Lannister camp."

"My brother," the boy growled, "casts a big shadow. No one in the Lannister army would try to stop me on account of him." Admitting that fact seemed to rile up the boy further.

"Where are we going?" the prisoner asked, after a moment's pause. "I could theoretically be on my own way and leave you to your own, but I am not an ungrateful man. You seem to have clearly planned this out, and you seem to want something from me. What do you suggest we do?"

"You clearly have no idea how much the stag hates your guts!" the boy growled, "once the news of your escape breaks, I would not be surprised if he mobilizes the entire army to get you back. There is a reason why we did not take a ship from the port. They are watched round the vigil, and I would not be surprised if the stag would send the ships of the royal fleet after the ships that sail out of the port tonight in a bid to catch you. You are too famous, too recognizable."

The prisoner nodded. These were all points that he himself had come to already.

"I assume, you have a plan then," he asked casually.

"I do," the boy nodded, "but before that, we need to talk about my favour," the boy spoke out, to which, the man nodded in agreement.

"Very well, what do you ask of me? I do not have much gold or worldly possessions to offer, but my word is my bond. Anything that is within my power to give, is yours," he spoke seriously, to which the boy paused, his eyes alight with satisfaction.

"You are one of the two greatest swordsmen in Westeros. I need you teach me how to kill, because there is a man I need to kill more than I need to live. He is stronger than me, faster than me, and is bigger than me. What he is, however, is shit as a warrior. But his strength makes up for his lack of skill. If I am to kill him, I need to be more skilled than him," the boy growled, while the man frowned.

After a while, the man sighed and replied, "It is not my place to judge. I gave you my word, and I will train you. But it must be after we have reached a safe place, and decided upon our new course of action."

The boy grunted in satisfaction, clearly pleased that his gambit had worked.

"Who is it, that you wish to kill so badly?" the prisoner asked after a while, curiosity rife in his tone.

"My brother," the reply shocked him to his core, and he pulled his horse to a stop.

"What!? No man is as accursed as a kin-slayer, boy!" he exclaimed in shock, as he gazed at the young man in front of him.

" _My brother is Gregor Clegane_ ," the boy replied in a deadpan voice as he gazed at the man in front of him calmly.

The words died within the prisoner's throat as he looked at the boy dumbfounded. After a few moments, his face broke into a smile, and then he gave a throaty laugh.

"Well, my father used to say that laws were meant to be broken, after all," he chuckled, and then gave a curt bow to the boy, " _Allow to me formally introduce myself, my name is Selmy, Barristan Selmy, also called Barristan the Bold_."

" _Clegane, Sandor Clegane_ ," the boy introduced himself, as both of them resumed their travel.

"So, where are we going?" Barristan asked again.

" ** _Duskendale_** ," Sandor replied, "Even that arrogant stag would not think that you would go back to the very place that made you a household name in Westeros in the first place," he finished with a grin on his face.

Barristan could not help it. He laughed again even as they raced their horses forward.

* * *

Six days later, after carefully travelling in a deliberate manner to avoid any roaming patrols, by using hidden trails, they had reached a village on the outskirts of Duskendale. Here, they put in the next part of their plan into operation.

Barristan obtained the services of a barber within the village, and shaved his head completely bald. Then, after disposing of their current garments, they dressed themselves as common sell-swords. To complete his disguise, Barristan took a knife, and gave a deep gash to himself on his face, by cutting a line from the top of his forehead to just below his right eye.

Without flinching, he cut himself, and stood still as Sandor crudely stitched the wound up. It was a crude, battlefield stitch, which would scar. Also, the inflammation from the wound would make it difficult for anyone to identify him, which was his plan.

Sandor, on the other hand, knew that his burns would make him easily identifiable. Too many people had seen him go into the black cells, and return back with a guard who was the disguised former Kingsguard. It would not take long for everyone to know that he had helped Barristan Selmy escape, and by now the word would have been out. He was certain of it. To complete his disguise, the boy took a jar of burn salve, and applied it liberally on his face, and then wrapped his face completely in cloth bandages, covering half of his face.

With their disguise complete, both of them made their way towards Duskendale.

* * *

As they neared the gate of the town, the guard in charge of the gate challenged them.

"Halt! State your business!"

"We are from Kings Landing, my name is Bald Pate, and this is my son, Dunk. We are trying to find a ship to take us to Essos or may haps Dorne," Barristan replied smoothly, while the guard and his fellows scrutinized him closely. Unknown to everyone, the head guard had stiffened for a second at hearing the names, before he collected himself, with none being the wiser as to what had happened.

"You seem to have had a rough go of it, recently, from the looks of it, friend," the man observed with a rather inquistive gaze as he looked at the two visitors.

"Aye," Barristan growled, "We lost everything when the damned Lannister's sacked the city. Lost our home, my wife was killed, and we got these wounds for daring to try and save ourselves from those curs! Now, we just want to get as far away as possible from those mongrels," he spat on the ground, for good measure.

"Good, go in. You will see no friends of the Lannister's in this town, I can assure you of that," the guard smirked, as he stepped aside and nodded to his men, permitting the two of them to pass inside. Everybody missed Barristan giving a quick sharp nod to the guard, who returned the gesture. Once they were gone though, the guard quickly excused himself and went somewhere else.

* * *

Smoothly, Barristan and Sandor walked in and made their way to the harbour of Duskendale. They were told that a ship to Dorne would leave the next morning. After booking their passage on the ship, the two of them made their way back to the inn where they had rented a room for the night.

As they reached the inn however, they noticed a huge commotion occurring. Lots of people were gathered within, and seemed to be celebrating.

"What is going on?" Sandor asked, even as he approached one of the men celebrating, who paused and then broke into a grin.

"The war is not over yet, mate! The Rebellion has suffered a great defeat! The Dornish have thrashed the cowardly flowers of the Reach in battle at Starpike!"

That took both of them by surprise.

"The Dornish!" Barristan asked in shock, as he looked at the man in surprise.

"Aye! The old lady of Dorne has declared independence! She says that she will not bow before a whoremongering brute who danced atop the corpses of her daughter and her grandchildren! Dorne has broken from the Iron Throne for good!" the man spoke with obvious relish, enjoying the looks of surprise on their faces.

"I don't believe it!" Barristan whispered in surprise, while Sandor just looked on slack jawed.

"Believe it, friend!" the man continued, "and it gets better! The Dornish army is being commanded by the boy-prince of Dorne. The son of Doran Martell! They say he wiped out the fat flower's army completely!" he roared, only to be joined by the cheers of the others in the inn.

"Aye!" another man exulted, "My cousin says that the fat flower lost over 15,000 men! It is going to take them weeks to clear the battlefield of the dead!"

Another round of cheers erupted.

"The maesters say that this is the greatest victory since the Field of Fire! The last person to win like this was the fucking Conqueror himself! Here is to Dorne, boys! Long may they live!" another man cheered, again to another round of laughter and applause.

Shocked and stunned, the Kingsguard and his accomplice quietly made their way to their room.

* * *

"Due you think it is true?" Sandor asked quietly, as he looked at Barristan with a hopeful look in his eye.

"Must be! The people of this town have no love for Kings Landing, and from the looks of it, half the town is in there, celebrating. We will know more, once we go to Dorne," the knight replied.

"And what will you do, once you reach there?"

"I will try and see Prince Quentyn, and offer him my sword. Arthur always spoke well of him, as did Lady Elia. It would seem that they were right to do so," the man sighed, as he leaned back on his cot.

"She did not deserve what happened to her. It was not right," Sandor spoke after a while, with a gloomy look on his face, while Barristan's face became stony.

"No, she did not deserve it," he agreed.

"It seems old Tywin has a habit of ordering the deaths of other men's daughters and he has finally found a man willing to do it," Sandor cursed, while Barristan narrowed his eyes as he tried to understand the meaning behind those words.

"You really don't know why I want my brother dead, do you?" he asked, even as he sat down on a chair, and faced the Kingsguard.

"From childhood, Gregor was always different. We knew there was something wrong with him, all of us in our family, that is. He would take pleasure in hurting people, and keep tormenting them. Our father tried to stop him, but he couldn't. Gregor grew too fast, too big and too strong. And after our mother died, he withdrew into himself, and stopped bothering," the boy spoke softly, and he looked at the other man.

Pointing to his scarred face, he continued, "Once, I just saw a toy lying on the ground, I was nine years old at the time. I started playing with it. It was Gregor's. I did not know it at the time. However, as soon as he saw me playing with it, he snapped. He began to beat me black and blue, even though I cried and told him I was sorry. He did not listen. He did not listen at all. And then, he dragged to me to the fireplace, and shoved me in head first, screaming that he would teach me my place. I screamed, I screamed like anything, but he did not listen, he did not care, _he did not care at all_ ," the boy whispered, as tears streamed out of his visible eye.

"I am sorry, lad, no child should have to go through that," Barristan spoke gently, as he looked at the broken boy in front of him, and he realized somewhat as to why the boy would consider becoming a kin-slayer.

"That's what broke my mother's heart, I suppose, she died a few days after," Sandor continued. "Once he became a man grown, his violence could not be contained. However, he had a sort of brutish cunning. He knew that if he kept on doing what he did, sooner or later, the law would catch up to him. So, he decided to offer his services to Old Tywin. He figured that if he had a Lord Paramount on his sides, nobody would dare touch him. At that time, the old lion was preparing to crush the Reyne's. He told my brother, that he had many men offering him his service in a similar manner and he was not impressed. What he wanted was someone who would not hesitate in obeying his orders no matter how harsh, how cruel or unjust it may be! A man who did not care what society would do, one who could inflict violence on a scale never seen before, and would make all tremble in fear before him. One who did not give a damn about what the world would think about him. He asked my brother if he was such a man," Sandor all but growled.

Listening to the tale, with a melancholic tone, Barristan nodded, "Go on …,"

"My brother said, yes," the boy growled, "to which the old lion asked him to prove it. He asked my brother to become a kin-slayer, to kill someone in his own family with his own hands to prove to Tywin that he was such a man! To Tywin, we were just dogs, not even worth considering. For him, only Lannister's matter, everybody else are worms! And my brother, eager to get his patronage, agreed," the boy whispered.

"He killed our sister," the boy wept uncontrollably, while Barristan looked at him in shock.

"What!?" he asked in horror, as he looked at the weeping boy.

"Aye, she was our father's youngest child. A weak, frail girl, but Gregor killed her all the same. He strangled her, and showed her corpse to Tywin, who now had his hatchet man. From then on, whenever he needed someone killed, he called for my brother, and my brother became untouchable in the Westerlands. During the Reyne-Tarbeck rebellions, it was on his orders, that Gregor massacred everyone in Tarbeck Hall. He raped and killed Ellyn Reyne's daughter in front of her, before killing them both. Of course, Roger Reyne caught up to him afterwards. Their battle was fierce, and the Red Lion wounded my brother bad, but his strength of body was too great for the Red Lion, who had to retreat, wounded. Then, old Tywin broke the dam of Castamere, and drowned everybody in the castle. He could not take the chance that his pet monster could win in a fight against the Red Lion a second time. He simply killed them all, by drowning them all like ants crushed under a deluge!" Sandor growled, while Barristan was pale as he heard the depravity of Gregor Clegane, and the callousness of his liege lord.

"And Rhaegar of all people knighted him, the irony of it all. Gods, had we but known," the Kingsguard sighed.

"Settle down, lad, you will have your vengeance soon enough," Barristan advised the boy, who began to calm down.

* * *

"You seemed surprised by my brother's actions, but not that of Old Tywin's," Sandor spoke after a while, in a shrewd tone. It was an extremely accurate observation, and Barristan could not help but be impressed that the boy had realized it.

He nodded. "Aye, your brother's tale surprised me, yes, but I have known that Old Tywin was capable of great cruelty from the beginning," he admitted.

"You did?" the boy asked in surprised.

"Aye lad," the Kingsguard replied back. "I have known Tywin since the time we were both there in King Aegon the fifth's court. Tywin was the King's cupbearer, while I was the squire of Prince Duncan Targaryen. From childhood, the one thing that has set Tywin apart is his pride. He is the sort of man who would not hesitate to burn the world to ashes, to avenge an insult. At that time, his father Tytos had squandered the power of their house, and they ran the risk of losing the Lord Paramountship of the West itself. For someone, who values his pride more than his life, the jeers and insults of those who mocked his house, cut deep indeed. Once he became lord, though," Barristan sighed, while Sandor nodded.

"I know, the whole damn world knows now, thanks to that fucking song," he growled.

"Aye, may haps there was a little bit of good in him once, I don't know," Barristan replied back. "We moved in different circles, he was a Lord Paramount, and I by that time, had become one of the greatest knights in Westeros, and the newest member of the Kingsguard," he spoke frankly, without an ounce of pride in his voice. A testament to the fact that what he claimed was irrevocably true.

"By then, Aerys made him his hand, and that was the beginning of ruin for House Targaryen," Barristan replied. "Tywin's ambition knew no bounds, and soon after becoming hand, he literally turned the royal court into a copy of Casterly Rock. Aerys resented it of course, but he needed Tywin's help to restore order after the Ninepenny wars. The war with Maelys Blackfyre had left its mark on the Kingdoms, and the tragedy of Summerhall did not help. But Tywin's arrogance was now unchecked, and finally Aerys had enough. He had made up his mind to dismiss Tywin, when disaster struck," Barristan spoke softly, as though remembering past events.

"What? What happened?"

"The defiance of Duskendale," Barristan smiled, "The event that made me a household name in Westeros," he concluded with a sad look on his face.

"Though," he paused, "there were some who believed that it was orchestrated by Tywin himself. The White Bull certainly thought so," he paused, while Sandor looked at him with mouth agape.

"Really?" he whispered in shock.

"Aye," Barristan replied back. "Think about it. The timing of the defiance was to eerily near. Just days before the king planned to dismiss Tywin, Lord Denys suddenly did the foolhardiest thing ever by kidnapping the King. Now that I think about it, a minor lord of little repute would never have dared to kidnap the King, unless he thought that he could get away with it, or if he had a backer, whom he believed could save him from the repercussions of such an act. The only one with that kind of power at the time was Tywin of course. If the King had been killed, then Tywin would have had to assume the regency as Rhaegar was still too young then. By marrying his daughter to Rhaegar ostensibly to support him, he would have become the King in all but name, except for one thing," Barristan paused.

"You, it was you," Sandor realized.

"Exactly, my saving the King ruined the plans of Darklyn and his supposed master, I suppose. But the damage had been done. Whatever tortures they had inflicted on Aerys in the dungeons of Duskendale hastened his madness. Either way, the defiance gave Aerys the reason he needed to dismiss Tywin, though Tywin claimed that he resigned because the King refused to take his daughter as a bride for his son. Ser Gerold Hightower, however, was still wary of the Old Lion, and always kept an eye on him. He did not trust him you see, and it was he, who advised Aerys to take Jaime Lannister into the Kingsguard as a hostage to ensure that his father did not overstep his bounds again," Barristan smiled grimly.

"Fuck me!" Sandor whispered in shock as he heard details, that normally he would never have been privy to.

"Aye, but it all came to naught," Barristan sighed, "Aerys was losing his sanity, but we never expected Rhaegar to follow suit, and the Lannister's took their revenge after all," he finished bitterly, and silence descended upon the room.

"Now what?" Sandor asked quietly, as he gazed at the man.

"Now, we go to Dorne, where I will meet up with a few old friends, and then we will go to see Prince Quentyn Martell."

"Old friends?"

"The White Bull and The Sword of the Morning, I have just sent them a message," Barristan smirked, while Sandor gaped at him in shock.

"How? When?"

"You are a resourceful lad, but, I have been doing this for a lot longer. The eunuch does not know it, but the White Bull has inserted his own men into the eunuch's spy network. That way, we the Kingsguard would always be aware of any threats to the Kingdom. And if necessary, in certain cases we would let the eunuch know only what he needed to know, while we would personally take care of certain threats to the Kingdom without it ever becoming public."

As he looked at the shocked gaze of the boy, Barristan Selmy laughed. "Don't be so shocked, boy. We are the Kingsguard. We are an organization that was set up by the greatest spy master the world has ever known. Visenya Targaryen, the wife of the conqueror himself. This is a secret that is only known to a select few members of the Kingsguard, and Jaime Lannister, that pretentious prick, has no idea about this."

Sandor swallowed nervously, as he detected a hint of bloodlust from the legendary knight.

"Arthur Dayne has a predestined meeting with your brother, and I have set one for Jaime Lannister! The Kingsguard may no longer exist, but we too pay our debts! The lions of Casterly Rock will realize it soon enough!"

* * *

 **Author's note:**

I had planned to post this father after Reverberations, part 2, but it still under re-work. In the mean time, this will set the tone nicely for the new direction I intend to take this story in.


	15. Reverberations - Part 2

**Kings Landing, 9 days after the Battle of Starpike, and the day after the escape of Barristan Selmy**

* * *

As he made his way towards the small council chambers, Varys was surprised to see Grand Maester Pycelle sitting at the head of an empty table in one of the kitchen rooms, with a half-eaten platter of food lying in front of him, seemingly forgotten. Pycelle had a rather vacant and morose look about him.

"Is everything well, Grand Maester?" Varys asked, feeling an unexpected bout of sympathy for his colleague. He was one of the very few people in Westeros who had been aware of the disaster of Starpike and knew how much stress the citadel and the order of maesters were in after that event.

"Hmm … oh, Varys," Pycelle shook himself out of his stupor and looked at the eunuch in surprise. "Hmm, I am as well as I can be during this situation. How about you? How proceeds the search for our escaped Kingsguard?" the old man asked, pausing for a while, as he poured out two glasses of wine, and pushed one towards the eunuch, who accepted it gratefully.

"None too well, I am afraid," the master of whispers replied balefully. The escape of Barristan the Bold had hit them all like a thunderbolt out of the blue. Robert Baratheon had thrown a most vicious tantrum when he had learned of the news. The entirety of the Gold cloaks had been let loose like a pack of wolves upon the city, but the famed knight was nowhere to be found. Even now, soldiers of the Rebellion were out scouring the entirety of the crownlands searching for the man.

"It seems, that we are fated to give bad news upon bad news to the king today, I fear we may not survive this day," the old man sighed, even as he pointed towards a certain scroll lying in front of him.

"Oh, more bad news you say?" Varys questioned, his eyes coming alight with curiosity.

"Not for the King, but rather for Lord Tywin," the grand maester spoke in a rather dispassionate tone.

"Now, you have indeed piqued my curiosity," the eunuch nodded, as he refilled the old maester's wine glass.

"Well, I am not certain if you have received this message yet from your little birds, if not, I am certain it will make its way to you regardless," Pycelle replied with a grim smile. " **Kevan Lannister is dead**."

The wine glass in Varys's hand froze just as it neared his lips. "Dead or murdered?" he asked shrewdly, to which Pycelle's eyes shimmered with the light of approval.

"We do not know yet," he replied. "Lord Marbrand states that Ser Kevan was killed when his horse became violent after he sat upon it, and it entered a mad frenzy. Ser Kevan was thrown down, and may have yet been saved, but the beast in its frenzy brought the hoof of one of its legs right on top of his skull and crushed it. A man may survive many things, but a crushed skull is not one of them," the old maester observed.

"Indeed," Varys nodded, "And what says Lord Marbrand? Anything else," his mind was running through lists of various possible suspects already. Pycelle shrugged, "Nothing much, only that once the beast was put down, they checked the saddle, and found that someone had stuck a small shard of steel underneath the saddle. As soon as Ser Kevan had seated himself on the saddle," he paused and sighed deeply, "you can see the results yourself. Though this does give rise to further questions," the old man finished.

"Yes, whether that steel piece was left there by design or by accident? And if it is by accident, then I am no eunuch," Varys scoffed.

"Quite," Pycelle nodded. "And what about you, Varys, you seem to have had quite a bit of bad news yourself recently. Whatever will you do?"

"Funny you should say that, Grand Maester. I am thinking that for once we should compare our notes and see whose news is the lesser danger. Too much bad news can get the messengers killed, and our new king is not a kind man."

"Hmm," Pycelle became silent, and then, he nodded in agreement.

* * *

 **2 hours later,**

* * *

"Varys, report," Robert Baratheon glared at the eunuch, who seemed completely at ease despite the danger he was currently in. The small council was on knife-edge after the escape of Barristan Selmy, and the King's temper was minute at the best of times.

Attending the council were Robert Baratheon, Tywin Lannister, Grand Maester Pycelle, Ser Gyles Rosby who was the master of coin, Greatjon Umber who was the second—in—command of the Northern Army, Ser Lyn Corbray in his capacity as the acting commander of the Vale Army in the absence of Jon Arryn and Yohn Royce, and Hoster Tully, the Lord Paramount of the Riverlands who had yet to return to the Riverlands.

"Your grace, my people have conducted a most thorough search of the city, and I regret to say that Ser Barristan Selmy is no longer in Kings Landing," the eunuch replied with a small bow, as he finished his report.

"One man, you cannot find one man? What good are you, you ball-less fuck, if you cannot find one man with an entire army's resources?" Robert asked in a black rage, while the others exchanged nervous glances.

But the insult washed over Varys like water on rock. For someone who had survived the temper of Aerys Targaryen himself, Robert Baratheon's temper was like that of a child's.

"We have not failed completely, Your Grace," Varys simpered. "We have identified how he managed to escape and most importantly, we now know who it was that helped him escape. We now have the name of the traitor who performed this act of blasé treachery against your person," the eunuch concluded, while Robert paused.

"Good, that is progress," the king grudgingly nodded. "Who was it? Who is that damn traitor?"

Everyone leaned forward to hear the answer.

"Young Sandor Clegane, Lord Tywin's cupbearer was clearly recognized helping Ser Barristan escape," Varys reported matter-of-factly being very careful to avoid the old lion's gaze.

"Impossible!" Tywin muttered being unable to help himself, as everyone turned to look at him dumbfounded. The old lion of the west looked as if somebody had slapped him in the face, a most alien look upon his visage that no one present could ever remember seeing before.

"You are mistaken, Varys! The Clegane's are loyal to me! They can never betray me," Tywin thundered angrily, pounding his fist on the table to emphasize the point.

"Ser Gregor is loyal, I believe, but not his younger brother, My Lord," Varys spoke softly. He then began to proceed explaining the cycle of events which he had reconstructed after gaining the knowledge of said events. He spoke of how all the gaolers of the Black Cells had recognized Sandor Clegane walking inside the Black Cells with a gaoler and had come out after an hour with the man. Then, during the night when one of the gaolers had gone in to give Barristan his meals for the night, the knight had not responded at all. Concerned, the gaolers had opened the doors of the cell and had tried to wake up the sleeping man, only to realize that it was not Barristan that was in the cell, but one of their own, wearing Ser Barristan's clothes. As a corpse to boot. He provided signed testimonies of all the men who had been involved in the discovery and offered to call them in as witnesses. Robert waved it off, as he went through the signed confessions, and his rage steadily grew.

"Treachery! What is the meaning of this, Lannister?" Robert roared with anger, while Tywin floundered, his face purpling with rage and shame, it was hard to say which emotion reigned supreme.

"I am loyal to you, your grace!" Tywin retorted harshly. "I do not believe that my cupbearer no less, can commit such a grave crime, the eunuch is mistaken. He is casting blame on my servants to escape censure! No one in the west would dare to betray me!" he spoke out, the last phrase was almost a challenge to himself, it appeared to everyone else.

"Then where is he?" the eunuch's silky voice cut through the silence, like knife through butter, "if so sure you are of his loyalty, My Lord, it would not be a great task to have young Clegane present himself to answer these questions, surely?"

Tywin froze, unable to believe that the eunuch of all people was backtalking to him. He was not used to such a thing.

"You dare backtalk to me, you wretch?" the old lion growled.

"We are in a meeting, are we not?" Varys simpered, "I have every right to state my opinions like everyone who has been invited, and you forget one thing, My Lord," here his voice hardened, "You are not the Hand of the King here, not anymore, and as such, I have no obligation to be subservient to you here. You are a Lord of the Realm, and I am a member of the Small council. Here, we are both equal in rank," he finished maliciously, while Tywin's face blackened with rage.

"Heh, well put, for one who has no balls, you have more courage than most, Varys," Robert chuckled, amazed that someone had the gall to backtalk to the feared lord of the West and turned to Tywin. "Well, Lannister, let us get to the bottom of it. Summon your cupbearer, I will have the truth of this," he ordered, while Tywin composed himself, glaring sharply at the eunuch. He would not forget this insult.

Ten minutes later though, he forgot all of this, as he stared at his page and roared in anger, "What the hell do you mean by 'he is gone'?"

"Explain, now," he whispered, even as he trembled in anger, while the poor page barely managed to keep himself from soiling.

"He left the city last night, My Lord, as you ordered," the man replied haltingly, while Tywin froze as everyone in the room held their breath.

"Are you mad? I gave no such orders," Tywin trembled in shock as he mouthed those words.

"He had your written orders, My Lord, stamped with your seal. As such, we permitted him to take 2 horses from the stables without question and gave him enough provisions to last for a week's journey," the page replied very quickly, and brought out the letter in question and handed it to the old lion who snatched it and began to read it quickly, while the page was dismissed to oblivion, and thanking the gods for small mercies.

As Tywin read through the document, all air seemed to deflate from his person, and he sank listlessly in his chair. That more than enough seemed to make a point to everyone present, that this was indeed unexpected to the Lord Lannister.

"It would seem that Lord Tywin is indeed blameless, Your Grace," Hoster Tully interjected, "it is clear from his posture, that this act of treachery was the boy's alone. To have forged his Lord's seal, and then to accomplish all this, this must have been planned quite a while back," the wily old Lord of the Riverlands tried to smoothen down the conversation. Tywin was a man ruled by his pride, and would not suffer it challenged too many times, not even by a King. They still needed the West after all.

"I concur," the eunuch replied. "Our men report that Sandor Clegane passed out through the mud gate last night on horseback with another man who was not clearly identified. It is now evident, that man could only be Ser Barristan and no one else."

"Very well," Robert conceded, "Pycelle send out ravens to all. A bounty of ten thousand dragons is to be placed on the heads of Sandor Clegane and Barristan Selmy each."

"As you will, Your Grace," the maester nodded, and made a note on his parchments.

* * *

"Any more ill news, to report today?" the King asked, to which the eunuch looked at the Grand Maester and nodded subtly.

"With your permission, Your Grace, I have some dire news to report," the old man spoke, as all eyes turned towards him.

"Yes, Pycelle," Robert Baratheon said authoritatively, "Proceed."

Grand Maester Pycelle shuffled as he looked at the small council. The last few days had been tensed and had been taxing on his nerves greatly. The ravens had flown fast and furious between him and the citadel for the last few days, especially since the debacle at Starpike. Apart from Varys, he doubted if anybody else had even realized the significance of what this battle portended. Most probably not.

For once, he had been forced to assiduously work in his capacity as the Grand Maester of the citadel. Quite literally, the citadel had been overwhelmed with the requests for assistance sent by the Hightower host after their destruction under the hands of the Dornish Army.

Arranging for enough healers and acolytes to be sent, along with the required quantities of medicines had stretched the citadel's resources to the breaking point. Tensions were running high in the Reach. And he had been forced to oversee all of it. And added upon it was the pressure of explaining this to the small council. He really was getting too old for this.

Not like that damned eunuch, he groused. The eunuch lives for times of chaos such as these. He shuffled and stood up.

"My Lords, in our last meeting I warned you of a potential problem of no small proportions. That problem is with us now, and it is growing larger. I speak of course, of the Army of Dorne."

"Has the boy-prince managed to win against the Tyrell's, Pycelle?" Tywin Lannister asked, with a rather harsh growl, still upset by what had been revealed earlier. The answer however, surprised him.

 _"Yes, My Lord, he has."_

All sense of levity and ease disappeared from the table at once. Most of the Lords at the table looked at him with blank and dumbfounded stares. All except Robert Baratheon, Greatjon Umber, Varys and Tywin Lannister, who sobered up remarkably fast.

 _"They won!?"_

 _"This must be a joke, Grand Maester!"_

 _"Are you quite sure!?"_

"Silence," Robert Baratheon ordered as he raised a hand to quell all noise. As everybody quieted down, he looked at Pycelle and ordered, "We need details of the battlefront, now!"

"Yes, Your Grace," Pycelle nodded and sat down, and opened a sheaf of parchments and began to read through. "First, the order of the battle, the Dornish under Prince Quentyn deployed roughly 12 to 15 thousand men, against whom the Hightower host deployed 15 thousand men as well. Roughly half their entire force."

"Rather forceful of old Lord Leyton, was he really that worried about the boy-prince?" Gyles Rosby mused, as others became pensive as they heard about the number of soldiers deployed.

"Who all partook in the battle? Any notable casualties or tactics that we need to be made aware of?" Greatjon Umber asked, at which Pycelle shuffled his papers, and nodded.

"From the messages that I have received, The Tyrell side vanguard was commanded by Lord Branston Cuy, as overall commander, with Lord Alester Florent serving as the commander of the Cavalry forces with most of his family members leading them. On the Dornish side, the vanguard was commanded by Lord William Dayne, the Lord of Starfall and the brother of Arthur Dayne, as well as Ser Manfrey Martell, the castellan of Sunspear."

"And the outcome?" Hoster Tully asked, his face hardened with a gimlet eye.

Here, Pycelle uncharacteristically sighed and covered his face with a palm, and replied, "The Hightower host was destroyed beyond recognition. Of the seven main commanders of the Tyrell Host, four of them were killed. Lord Branston Cuy, his nephew Ser Emmon, Ser Colin Florent, Ser Merrel Florent were all killed. House Cuy has been exterminated. With the death of its Lord and his nephew, there are no living heirs left for House Cuy. Similarly, House Florent also lost half of its members in the host that were present. More than 21 minor houses of the Reach have been eradicated. Of the 15 thousand men of the Hightower host, more than twelve thousand five hundred men are dead!"

There was a sudden crashing sound, and everyone turned around only to see that Tywin Lannister had dropped his wine glass, with his face displaying something that no living person had seen till date today. Pure, unadulterated shock and horror. That emotion was literally alien to the Lord of Lannister's face, and it was surprising to see him display it so prominently repeatedly today.

The silence at the table was so profound, that one could have heard a pin drop if somebody had attempted it. Gyles Rosby looked visibly nauseated, while the other military men in the room had been shocked into silence.

"And what of the losses on the Dornish side?" Hoster Tully asked, as half the table leaned forward to hear the answer.

"Less than 900 men if I am correct," was the reply. Everyone jerked back, as if they had been slapped on the face. "The only notable casualty on the Dornish side was Ser Manfrey Martell," Pycelle concluded.

"Less than 900, and a mere castellan, one who is not even a direct member of the ruling family of Dorne! This seems like a sick jape to me," Lyn Corbray spoke up at which Pycelle whirled around.

"The dead on the field of Starpike would disagree, I believe," the old maester retorted harshly, at which most of the members looked at him in surprise.

"Peace, Grand Maester, I am sure Lord Corbray meant nothing by it," Varys interceded, at which Pycelle composed himself.

"Yes, yes Lord Varys, My apologies. The last few days have been quite taxing, and I am not as young as I used to be and let my emotions get the better of me. My apologies, Lord Corbray," the old man spoke softly, as everyone leaned back and tried to absorb the impact of the news, while Corbray graciously accepted the apology with a wave of his hand.

"Who was responsible for this? Who commanded the battle in its entirety?" Robert Baratheon asked as he stood up and began to pace around.

At this, Pycelle looked at Varys who nodded. When before the meeting they had compared notes, both men had realized that today they would be forced to deliver harsh news to the members of the council repeatedly. News which they wouldn't like, nor appreciate. But they couldn't vacillate. It was time to explain the facts of life to these people, and a slap across the face was sure to get their attention. However, both had agreed to keep the news of Lyanna Stark and Kevan Lannister's death a secret for now. Too much bad news could get the messengers killed, and they were the messengers here.

"If I may, your grace, I can provide some information on this," the eunuch spoke, and looked around the table for approval. He got it, although he noticed that the old lion of the west, was now looking at him with a red eye. He had deliberately baited the Old Lion, and the Old Lion was none too pleased about it from the looks of it.

"Although, the initial vanguard was commanded by Lord Dayne, by mid-noon Prince Quentyn himself assumed personal command. It was only after that; did misfortune fall upon the Tyrell host."

"The boy personally entered the field? And commanded?" Greatjon Umber asked carefully at which Varys nodded.

"My little birds have been quite busy, and we have a fairly solid picture of what occurred," the master of whispers replied. "From what I understand, prior to his arrival on the battlefield, against the Tyrell Vanguard of 5,000 cavalry, the Dornish had deployed 2,000 cavalries of their own, and they were holding their own from all accounts."

"Two against five thousand, and they managed to hold? Impressive," Lyn Corbray grudgingly admitted.

"Truly," Varys nodded, even as everybody else listened attentively. "But, upon noon, once the Tyrell infantry began to advance, the Dornish fell back and the siege weaponry from Starpike began its assault. From what we can understand, they continuously bombarded the battlefield with some sort of jars, containing a mixture which blanketed the entire battlefield with a thick haze of smoke."

Here, Robert Baratheon immediately paused, "Smoke, you say?" he asked rather quickly, to which Varys nodded in assent.

"Yes, Your Grace, during that period, Prince Quentyn personally arrived on the battlefield with his forces and deployed them in an unusual formation, from what I am told. More than half his forces were made of archers, who were shielded by infantry and cavalries."

The military men absorbed the fact and tried to imagine the scenario and came up blank.

"It is here, that the story gets confusing," Varys continued, "From all accounts, the Tyrell soldiers report that they tried to assault the Dornish positions through the thick smoke, but they could not even get near them. The Dornish archers were able to accurately target the Reach men despite near total lack of visibility, with unerring accuracy, always without fail."

"How is that possible?" Hoster Tully asked, perplexed, while others looked nonplussed.

"I am not certain of that myself, My Lord, but there is one odd thing that all our spies reported," here Varys paused, with confusion evident upon his face. "All of them report hearing sounds continuously during the battle, sounds made by … bells from the looks of it!" the eunuch concluded, even as his eyes closed in contemplation.

"Your Grace, our men report that the battlefield was continuously rife with the sounds of Bells and Gongs! They cannot make heads or tails of it!" the eunuch finished his report and sat down, though he observed the King carefully, as did everybody else.

"Do you make anything of this, My Lord?" Hoster Tully asked, at which Robert focused upon Varys with unusual intensity.

"Was there anything else, Varys? Something unusual, perhaps something that no one had seen before? This cannot be it, mere bells cannot kill men in thousands! Something else must have happened, or the flowers would not have been trounced this badly!?" he prompted, at which Pycelle nodded in agreement.

"There was, Your Grace," the old Maester replied. "We have reports that the Dornish deployed unusual horse drawn wagons, armoured wagons of wood, each drawn by four horses to be sure, with a driver and a spearman aboard. From all accounts, many of the casualties came from these infernal contraptions. They simply crushed the Reach men beneath their wheels and pulverized those poor souls," the old man concluded. Most of the men at the table winced, as they tried to imagine that sight.

For the first time Robert Baratheon looked dumbfounded and perplexed as though he couldn't discern what was being said. He stood up with eyes wide and alight, "Armoured wooden horse drawn carts, you say?" he asked the old man as everybody realized finally that the King had indeed recognized something that had eluded all of them.

"Yes, your grace," Varys nodded, now certain that the King had recognized something that had missed them all. "We have a crude drawing of it, if you wish to see," he paused and nodded at the Grand Maester who pulled out a piece of parchment and handed it to the King.

The King who looked at the crude drawing crushed it in his fist, as his face darkened.

"Hmm … I recall reading about these somewhere, but I cannot for the life of me recall where," Robert Baratheon exclaimed, even as he sank back into his chair with his eyes narrowed, as if he was trying to remember something.

"Well, this clears it. Regardless of what he did or how he achieved it, Quentyn Martell is now a legitimate threat. We will fall back and observe, for now. I am issuing this order with immediate effect. No one is to engage the Dornish Army unless myself, Ned or Stannis is in command. In fact, Pycelle, send a raven to Storm's End. I want Stannis and Renly here as soon as possible. Also, evacuate all the wounded from our army in King's Landing to Storm's End," Robert announced, and a bombshell of an announcement it was. Everyone looked at him, as if he was crazy, and some were enraged that the King would deem a mere boy as being his equal and better than them all combined. Pycelle on the other hand made more notes in his parchments. He observed that since Starpike, the notes were continuously increasing. He scoffed at the thought and continued to write down his instructions.

"That is an absolute over reaction, Your Grace! The boy cannot be as big a threat as you imagine! The Tyrell's are weak, and this boy managed to overwhelm them with a few tricks surely, but to suggest that he is your equal in the arts of war is preposterous to the extreme!" Hoster spoke out in an agitated tone, while the others broke into a cacophony of noises.

"Pycelle, are you certain about the number of Tyrell casualties? All this seems too fantastic to believe! Are you sure your ravens are not compromised, and you have been fed false information?" Tywin asked in a harsh tone to which Pycelle just stared at the man blankly.

However, there was one difference which others failed to notice. Pycelle no longer spoke or looked at Tywin deferentially. The sacking of Kings Landing had literally ruined the relationship between the two men. Regardless of his vices, Pycelle was someone who took his duties as a Maester seriously. He had advised Aerys to open the gates of Kings Landing, hoping that Tywin and his men would capture the Red Keep and put an end to the war. What he had not expected was for Tywin's men to sack the city itself. The resulting carnage and bloodshed had weighed heavily on his mind. Over a hundred thousand dead, because he had misjudged the man, and all those innocent lives lost, had weighed heavily on the old man's soul.

"Lord Tywin, just because you do not like the nature of the message that has been conveyed, does not make it a lie!" he snapped at the Lord Paramount of the West, who narrowed his eyes. The others at the table watched with wide eyes, as the Grand Maester who was said to be a lackey of the Old Lion snapped back at his supposed master.

"Careful Pycelle, you forget to whom you speak!" Tywin warned the old man, who snarled, his emotions finally taking a toll on his mind and he lashed out.

"And you forget yourself, boy!" he snarled back, at which Tywin's jaw dropped as did everyone else's.

"I have been a Maester since before you were born! I was the Grand Maester when you were but the cupbearer for the mad king's grandfather as a snot-nosed brat! I have served three Kings as Grand Maester! Do not dare to presume to tell me how I should do my job! For the last three days, I have neither slept nor eaten, and have been busy in ordering the citadel to deal with the disaster at Starpike! Westeros has not seen a battle this lopsided since the Field of Fire itself. It will take nearly three weeks just to clear the battlefield of all the dead! We, of the citadel, are desperately trying to ensure that a damned plague does not spread because of all the dead! Hundreds are wounded, requiring medical supplies that will literally strain the citadel empty! A few spies may lie, yes, but the entire world cannot! **Do not blame us for your failure to misjudge your own men and their treachery and try and use us a means to vent your anger!** "

Absolute, thunderstruck silence descended upon the room. Varys of all people, was looking at the Grand Maester as if he was a new man, slack jawed and eyes bulging. The eunuch looked quite comical displaying such shock, which was alien to his countenance. The others in the room were literally in awe at the dressing down the old man had given to Tywin Lannister of all people.

Tywin who had been shocked into silence, finally snapped and purpled up in rage, and his hand fell to his blade.

"Do not be a moron, Lannister! Listen to the old man, shut up and sit down!" Robert Baratheon ordered the Warden of the West who glared at both men.

"Do not make me repeat myself!" Robert warned softly, at which, with herculean effort, Tywin composed himself, and sat down glaring murderously at the Grand Maester.

"All this aside, would you care to explain to us, as to the conclusions you have arrived at, Your Grace?" Varys interjected, trying to bring the conversation back on track. He had noticed the King ignoring the conversations and focus solely on some matter internally.

"Hmm," Robert paused, as he tried to put it in words, "I finally remembered where I read about those damn wooden monstrosities. The wooden contraptions that the Dornish used, they are known as War chariots. They were mostly used by the Ghiscari in their war against the Valyrians, I believe. They have not been seen in this world since the end of the Ghiscari empire! That boy has pulled out a trick that the whole world has forgotten. The Tyrell's were fools for trying to go up against an unknown entity without proper preparations. It is no wonder they were slaughtered. From the beginning, from what I can glean from the information on this battle is that he deliberately baited the Tyrell's into committing their infantry to battle by feigning weakness."

"Weakness, you say?" Gyles Rosby asked nonplussed, while the others watched as one of the greatest generals in the world laid bare the strategy of his enemies.

"It is all conjecture to be sure, but it is the only thing that makes sense. By deliberately sending only two thousand as his advance vanguard, he baited the Tyrell cavalry to rush in. The fact that those two thousand horsemen could hold back the opposing five thousand was his greatest weapon. Seeing the cavalry being ineffective, Leyton Hightower sent in the ten thousand infantries as well, which is when he sprung his trap."

"The smokescreen," Lyn Corbray pointed out, at which Robert nodded in agreement.

"All of his planning was for that only. The bells you mentioned were his key weapons in this battle," he smiled grimly while everyone was taken aback.

 _"Really?"_

 _"How in the world?"_

"Using those bells," Robert continued, "he was able to direct the battlefield itself. Basically, by having his own men move in tandem with the Tyrells, hidden conveniently by the smoke, they would convey the location of the Tyrell soldiers through sound signals which would allow the Dornish archers to target them accurately even without being able to see them."

A shudder of fear ran through most of the people in the room.

 _"How terrifying!"_

 _"I cannot believe this!"_

 _"What a strategy!"_

"You all are too easily impressed," Robert scoffed. "These sound signals were in fact a diversion. In that chaotic scene, by deliberately setting themselves up in pockets, those archers were herding the Tyrell soldiers to the middle of the battlefield, rather than trying to kill them. This would allow the war chariots to run those poor bastards down without them even realizing it! That is the reason why there is such a disparity in casualties."

As the Dornish strategy was laid bare, all the Lords in the room were forced into silence.

"I now understand why you have deemed that boy a threat, Your Grace!" Hoster admitted grudgingly, while the others remained silent, and sullen.

"How shall we respond to this?" Lyn Corbray asked.

"We wait until Jon Arryn returns," retorted Robert. "Come to think of it, why hasn't he or Yohn Royce sent a message yet?" Robert asked, at which Pycelle replied. "We should receive a raven in a couple of days, Your Grace!"

"Hmm! Well, keep me informed," Robert ordered.

"But the question remains, My Lord, how shall we respond?" Lyn Corbray again asked, while Robert stood up and began to pace around.

"With this, it is clear that Dorne does not recognize our claim over Westeros and intends to secede from the Iron Throne. We are now in the beginning stages of a civil war," he replied quietly, to which everyone reacted as if they were set on fire.

 **"PREPOSTEROUS!"**

 **"UNTHINKABLE!"**

 **"THOSE DORNISH SCUM MUST BE BROUGHT TO HEEL!"**

 **"THE IRON THRONE CANNOT BE ALLOWED TO FRACTURE!"**

"Calm down!" Robert spoke curtly, "This battle was waged to elicit this very reaction from all of you in the first place! It was designed to provoke me into action. If we mobilize, we will fall into the boy's trap."

"Trap, you say?" Tywin asked with an inscrutable gaze.

"Quentyn Martell, from what I can make of him," Robert spoke clearly, "is a person who does not act when there is nothing to gain. Right now, our forces are depleted and need to recover from the battles waged against Rhaegar Targaryen. And at the same time, there are the Ironborn who are roaming around like vultures waiting to pounce upon us. Do you think we can afford to attack Dorne with all these issues plaguing us?"

"But, if we act now, we can use the overwhelming might of numbers on our sides to crush them," Gyles Rosby spoke out.

"Don't be a Fool! That is what he wants! Quentyn desires battle. As of now, despite his overwhelming victory, he is surrounded on all sides by enemies. For him, as long as he can pitch a battle, he can destroy this encirclement. Now, we shall be as mountains, immovable. The best strategy is to contain him where he is and to prevent him from moving further," Robert smirked with a cruel look on his face.

"He cannot wage war indefinitely like us, he lacks the resources to do so. At best he can fight two more battles, before his forces wear themselves out," at that moment, Robert's eyes widened, and he paused.

"This is it. This is what he is after," he whispered as he immediately turned to Varys.

"Varys! Has Quentyn Martell sent any communications to the Reach? An offer of peace or something to that effect?" he asked with an urgent tone.

"I am not certain, Your Grace," the eunuch replied, his brows creasing as he thought furiously, "though I did receive word that he had talks with Leyton Hightower and his men after the battle. What they discussed is still not known though," he opined.

"Find out Varys, this takes precedence over everything, we must know what terms he has offered to the Reach," Robert insisted.

"Is something amiss, Your Grace?" Greatjon Umber asked with curiosity laced in his tones. Robert however ignored him.

"Where is Oberyn Martell? Is he still in Braavos?" he asked Varys, who nodded in agreement.

"Find out if he is meeting with any of the bankers in the Free cities apart from the Iron Bank. As quickly as you can," he ordered, even as his mind began to calculate through the scenarios.

"We have been remiss, the boy is playing a deeper game than we thought," Robert replied after a moment's contemplation as everyone looked at him in surprise.

"Deeper game you say?" Pycelle asked in surprise, to which Robert nodded.

"This battle of Starpike, it was not fought keeping us in mind. It was a lure to trap Mace Tyrell," the King announced with a growl.

 _"WHAT!?"_

 _"THE FAT FLOWER?"_

"I believe that Quentyn has also concluded, that Dorne cannot wage a protracted war against us. As such, he is seeking resources and allies to bolster his forces. This battle was a message to Mace Tyrell, so that the fat fool would not dare to ignore peace terms that the boy would send to him afterwards."

"Indeed," mused Lyn Corbray, "If the boy had approached the fat flower before this battle, the pompous fool would have ignored him. Now, he cannot afford to."

"Exactly," agreed Hoster Tully, who was the canniest politician amongst them and who quickly realized the political implications of what could result from this set of events, "By wounding Mace Tyrell's pride, he is forcing Mace to deal directly with him. It is now clear that he desires the resources and the men of the Reach. From the beginning, he has planned out every step. He has sent Oberyn Martell to meet with the bankers of the Free cities to seek funds to wage war. Then, at the same time, by dealing the Tyrell's a devastating blow, he is forcing them to terms as per his needs. If the fat flower agrees, then Dorne, The Reach and the Ironborn will become a frighteningly capable alliance, strong enough to match us. The key is in the terms that he has sent to Mace Tyrell through Leyton Hightower. We must know what they are! If we know that, we can outbid him. As it is, despite this loss, the Reach can still call upon 80,000 men. We cannot afford for the Dornish to gain them," the old Lord of the Riverlands insisted, while the others in the room recoiled in shock as they recognized the threat.

"That cannot be allowed at any cost," growled Tywin Lannister. "Mace Tyrell has bent the knee to the King. He must not be allowed to sunder his oaths and join the Dornish," he concluded.

"Pycelle," barked Robert. "Send a raven to the old crone of Highgarden. Warn her that if her son breaks his fealty to us, then what I did to the Targaryen's will pale in comparison to what I will inflict upon her miserable family. Also, tell her that if she succeeds in managing to dissuade her son from this foolishness, then I will reward them amply. One of her daughters will marry Stannis, and they will have a place in my small council after the war ends."

"Is that sufficient? Do you think that the queen of thorns can be trusted enough for this?" Greatjon asked.

"Trust her? Only a fool would do so," Robert scoffed before continued, "What we can trust is in her greed. The old crone has always wanted to claw her way into royal grace. We can trust her to do what is in her benefit, which in this case coincides with our interests."

"Do you think she can prevail upon her son to see sense, Your Grace?" Lyn Corbray asked again, with doubts plaguing his mind.

"The fat flower is completely under the thumb of his mother. He will not dare go against her," Hoster Tully scoffed derisively in answer to that observation, while everyone laughed at that point.

"But still, you raise a valid point, Corbray," Robert admitted, even as he stood up and moved towards a battle map.

"We must take our precautions in case, by some miracle, the fat flower grows a spine strong enough to resist his mother. We have offered promise of a reward. We should also offer a promise of punishment warning them not to cross us," he paused, even as his fingers traced through the map until it stopped on a certain location.

"Tywin, here is your chance to disprove the abilities of the boy-prince. Send the Lannister army to Bitterbridge and have them occupy it," he ordered as everyone looked at him in shock.

"I mean it when I say occupy, Tywin, there will be no sacking there. The Tyrells have bent their knees to me, and have not reneged on it, yet," he added, while Tywin nodded curtly.

Suddenly, all of them were disturbed as a loud scream of anguish tore through the entirety of the Red Keep. Startled, everyone rose from their chairs and moved to the windows of the small council chambers to observe what was going on in the courtyards below.

* * *

From the windows of the chamber, they could see a lot of commotion in the gardens of the Red Keep below. Scores of soldiers were seen running to the place, where a group of women were holding back a hysterical woman from trying to assault an old man who was standing atop a corpse.

From the looks of his uniform, the old man appeared to be a gardener, and he was laughing like mad, holding a bloody sword in his hand. At his feet was the corpse of a man. A beheaded corpse, wearing a very familiar garb of a Kingsguard. From the looks of it, the old man had seemed to have struck the dead man from behind his back, taking him unawares.

Lyn Corbray was the first to realize it. The woman who was screaming incoherently and was being held back, was Cersei Lannister, which meant that the dead man on the ground was … his eyes widened in shock …

 **"FUCK ME IN THE ARSE! THAT OLD FUCK HAS JUST MURDERED JAIME LANNISTER!"**

As one, everyone instantly whirled around to see Tywin Lannister in alarm.

The old lion of the west was watching with a pained expression on his face, and a hand clamped over his chest.

A second later, he collapsed in a dead faint.

The small council watched numbly for a moment, before Robert roared, **"PYCELLE! LOOK TO HIM! NOW!"**

* * *

 **Author's Note:** Well, here it is! The reworked chapter. I hope this meets expectations. As I said in earlier chapters, Quentyn said that he would strike a blow against Tywin's legacy which will reverberate throughout the ages as his revenge. Now, the game starts afoot, anew, again.


	16. Unexpected Developments

"Well … Pycelle, How fares the old lion?" Robert asked the old Grand Maester, who just walked out of Tywin Lannister's bedchamber. It had been nearly a day since the murder of Jaime Lannister, and the situation in the Red Keep was teetering on a knife's edge.

At the door were the entirety of the small council, who were now joined by Ser Tygett Lannister who was acting as the representative of the Westerlands in Kings Landing, due to the incapacitation of his elder brother.

"He lives for now, but his body has undergone a severe shock. It is all now dependent upon his will to survive," the old man spoke as gently as possible while everyone absorbed the news.

" _You underestimate Tywin's resolve, Grand Maester,_ " Tygett growled, " _My brother will not die, not before he has razed those who are responsible for murdering my nephew to the ground,_ " the general of the Lannister army retorted harshly, while others remained silent.

"Let us remove ourselves to the small council chambers to further discuss these matters," Hoster Tully interjected and everyone nodded their assent. Robert invited Tygett to attend in lieu of his brother considering the circumstances, which the acting Lord of the West accepted. Unseen by the others, Varys and Pycelle slowed down their gait deliberately so that they fell behind the others and began to rapidly converse in soft tones.

Once they reached the chambers, everyone seated themselves and Robert immediately took charge.

"Rosby, what have you found out?"

"Your Grace, we have the prisoner in custody," the master of coin, who also doubled as the leader of the city watch replied quickly.

"The old man has not replied to any of our questions despite the most rigorous of tortures. He has repeatedly said that he will explain why he did it, only in open court and only when Tywin Lannister is well enough to attend and hear what he has to say. And he will not budge from it, no matter what. I fear that if we try to force the issue, the old man may not survive any further attempts at questioning. I will leave it to your grace's decision as to how we are to proceed further," the master of coin concluded his report and sat down, while the small council members digested the details given.

"Hmm …," Robert paused, even as he stroked his chin as he was wont to do, whenever he was deep in thought.

"Varys, what about you? Have you any inclinations as to why this old man murdered the young lion?" Robert asked, at which the master of whispers lowered his eyes and tried to avert looking at the King. This did not go unnoticed, which was his intention in the first place.

"So … you do know something! Out with it, eunuch! What has gotten you so flustered?" the King glared at the eunuch who sighed almost theatrically and got up.

"Your grace, whilst most of the small council were busy in tending to the Lord of the West, I received further dire news of the most regrettable sort. However, I could not bring it upon myself to disturb your good self when you were so preoccupied," the eunuch replied softly.

"Dire news … you say?" Hoster asked with a sharp look thrown at the eunuch, who shrugged as if to indicate that he just received the news, he did not create it.

"All the indications are that we are now under assault by a very dangerous enemy, who is waging a deadly assault at us, and has been successful so far in his initial strikes. The overall situation has changed somewhat, but the situation is by no means lost," the eunuch concluded. He'd chosen those words deliberately.

 _By no means lost,_ everyone around the table knew, was a delicate way of saying that a disaster had occurred. As in any society, if you knew the maxims, you could break the code. Success was always proclaimed loudly and with great fanfare. Setbacks were usually dismissed as something less than a stunning success. Failure was always attributed to a scapegoat much to said individual's misfortune. But a real disaster was always explained as a situation that could yet be restored.

Hoster Tully, arguably the greatest politician in Westeros of the era, was the first to grasp the implications. He did not waste any time.

"What exactly has happened, Varys?" he asked urgently in a tone which brooked no opposition.

"The news just reached me yesterday night, although the event it mentions has occurred three days ago. It was sheer coincidence that this news reached us on the same day that young Ser Jaime met his unfortunate end," Varys simpered, while Robert banged his fist on the table, "Enough prevaricating, Varys! What has happened?"

"Hunh …," Varys sighed, "I am sorry to inform this august gathering that Ser Kevan Lannister is dead."

As one, everyone at the table froze as they looked at him in shock.

Then, with a roar, Tygett Lannister stood up, " **WHAT!?** " just a second ahead of the others who echoed his words. His face red, his jowls quivering and his eyes bloodshot, it appeared as if he was a hair trigger away from going berserk.

"Explain! Now!" Hoster barked, while Varys nodded.

"From what Lord Marbrand, who has now assumed command of the Lannister forces heading into the West to deal with the Ironborn writes, Lord Kevan lost his life when his horse went berserk when he mounted it, and it threw him down and crushed his skull," here everyone winced, while tears sprung out of Tygett Lannister's eyes.

"Once the beast was put down," Varys paused, and here his voice took a sinister turn, "it was found that someone had stuck a small piece of sharpened steel underneath Lord Kevan's saddle. As soon as he sat on it though," he did not need to complete as everyone grasped the implications.

"So, this is a co-ordinated attack," Hoster mused, while stroking his beard. "Clearly, this is an attempt at forcing the Lannister's to crack," the old Lord of the Riverlands mused, while Tygett struggled to get himself under control.

"What do you make of this, Hoster?" Robert asked with a sombre tone as he looked at the old lord.

"The Lannister army was on its way back to deal with the Ironborn threat that was reported, this much we are all aware of," Hoster paused, as he tried to organize his thoughts. "With Kevan's death, there is no one of enough stature left to command that army, leaving it in a precarious position. Simultaneously, at the same time Jaime Lannister is murdered, thereby putting Tywin in an impossible situation. He has to choose between taking charge of that army to secure the West, or stay back to avenge his son, and leave the West under the mercy of the Ironborn, thereby risking a real chance of mutiny from his bannermen. _Regardless of how much they fear him, they fear for their families and their well being more_. And if that is threatened, then there is a risk of them collectively standing up in revolt if Tywin prioritizes revenge before reason. Unfortunately, in this situation, I cannot see how he can afford not to. Either choice spells doom for his house," Hoster groused, while the others became silent.

"Only a deeply twisted mind can devise such a dastardly scenario, the amount of planning that has gone into devising this is phenomenal," Hoster growled, "Do not mistake this, My Lords, this is the work of a fiendishly clever mind, which has put all its efforts into taking down House Lannister while maximizing their suffering. This is the work of an enemy who wishes to bring ruin to House Lannister by any means necessary. The question is who?"

" _That is a hell of a long list! The old lion has a mountain sized number of enemies,_ " Lyn Corbray snarked, at which Tygett growled. Corbray instantly raised his hands in surrender indicating that he was just making a point and meant no insult.

Robert was silent for a long time. Then he looked at Varys, "Is this all? Or is there more dire news?"

Varys nodded curtly. Jaime Lannister's death had given him a great opportunity to blame all the bad news on a third party and absolve himself from the rage that would be directed at him as a result. The irony was that Varys believed all of them to be various incidents loosely tied together by circumstances, and he was painting them as one singular conspiracy and blaming a third party for it to avoid punishment for his failure in detecting it in advance. He would never realize that his conjecture was in fact, the truth.

"I do, My Lord, however, I fear for my life, if I were to speak it out loud," the eunuch replied with a fearful look adorning his face. As one, the entire council turned around to look at Varys. In a sense, it was akin to a group of sharks sensing blood in water. Uncannily so.

"You just relay the news, you are not the one responsible for originating it," Robert waved it off, "Not unless you are telling me that you had a hand in the events you are reporting!"

"No, My Lord! I would never dare!" Varys replied with a frantic tone.

"Out with it, Varys! We are all pressed for time," Hoster Tully, who was acting as Hand of the King in Jon Arryn's absence in all but name, growled.

" **Lady Lyanna Stark is dead!** I have received word that Arthur Dayne has killed her and his fellow Kingsguard's, Ser Gerold Hightower and Ser Oswell Whent, as well as five of Lord Stark's men. Reports are sketchy but it appears that only Lord Howland Reed and Lord Eddard himself, thankfully, were able to survive the mad rampage of the Sword of the Morning," Varys quickly concluded and stepped back.

He was not the only one. Everybody at the table had jerked back as if struck by lightning. All faces turned towards Robert Baratheon with fear rife in their eyes. They were not disappointed.

Robert Baratheon was close to having what could loosely be called an identity crisis at the moment. He had started the Rebellion with the express wish of freeing the woman he had loved from the clutches of a mad prince. After losing his parents, the only thing that had kept him going was his desire to be with the woman he loved. Lyanna Stark, regardless of her true feelings towards him, had become the sole crutch of his existence. All that he had done to date, all the deaths, the suffering, the war, the life and death battles, Robert had waged in her name and for her. To find out that the sole reason for his continued existence itself had ceased to exist, it was chilling to think about it. Even if Robert was not weak minded, such an event would be enough to crack him. Anyone with any sort of drive and dedication would crack, and to be a king, one needed to have these qualities in abundance.

"… _What?"_

It was the most senseless thing that Robert had heard till date. It was impossible. She couldn't be dead. She just couldn't. They had fought the fucking war to free her for god's sake!

 _And she was dead … no … murdered?_

He let that information sink into his brain. He could hear the laughter of Rhaegar Targaryen from beyond the grave. Mocking him, jeering him, and taunting him that his victory was now naught but ashes. He could see Mad Aerys cackling; he could see Elia Martell laughing at him with a savage delight in her eyes, he could see his parent's dying in front his eyes. Again and again, he could see all those who he loved, leaving him one by one, all because of the fucking Targaryen's.

It stuck in his craw, to accept the news for what it was. But that was they way that the pawns on the board had fallen.

He had won the battle, but lost the war. Rhaegar had lost the battle and his life, but now, from beyond the grave it seemed that he had won the war.

 _Damn them, damn them, damn them all… … Tywin killed those fucking dragonspawn too quickly … … if only … …_

"Your grace," it took the voice of Hoster Tully, his last remaining friend in Kings Landing, to bring him back.

By the time he came to and composed himself, the entire small council chamber had been destroyed by his bare hands. How long had it been?

All the members of the small council had run out of the chamber and were standing at the door looking at him apprehensively, and in some cases, with fear rife in their eyes.

"Hoster, I will raze Starfall to the ground. And I will shove Dawn up Arthur Dayne's arse so hard that its point will come out of his mouth. This I swear on everything that is holy in this world," Robert said, in a cold and callous tone, a stark departure from his usual bluster and bearing.

* * *

 **STARPIKE CASTLE, AT THE SAME TIME,**

* * *

As he stood atop the castle's battlements observing the withdrawal of the Hightower Army, Quentyn was joined by Oberyn Martell, as well as William Dayne.

"Gives you the chills, does it not," William Dayne observed, as he looked at the horde of Tyrell soldiers working hard in digging mass graves to bury their dead.

"It does indeed," Oberyn agreed. It was indeed a chilling sight to see so many men dead. As much battle-lust as he possessed, the scale of the carnage had shocked even the famously ill-tempered younger son of Myriah Martell.

"I am surprised that they are leaving so quickly," Oberyn observed, even as he watched columns of wounded men, slowly making their way back to the Reach.

"It is only natural," his nephew replied back. "My truce has given them a chance to retreat peacefully. Even more importantly, they are perilously close to depleting their supplies, especially the medicinal kind. And they cannot expect any more reinforcements. It is only natural to leave in these circumstances. Besides, I am a man of my word. I said as much to Leyton Hightower that I would allow him to leave with his remaining men unmolested."

"Mountains surround them, their enemies, namely us, are on higher ground. They were quite literally facing a dead zone, with no chance of advancing; in hindsight, they had no choice but to retreat," William Dayne observed, to which Quentyn nodded in agreement.

"You made good time from Braavos, I did not expect you back for another three days," Quentyn observed wanly, abruptly changing the point of discussion after a moment's silence.

"I hired a fast ship. The captain was a smuggler, quite well known, took to the water better than the fish, and we made surprisingly good time," Oberyn shrugged in response. His uncle was in an extraordinarily cheerful mode, it appeared.

"Oh, must have been quite a sailor, that man," Quentyn quipped back with a smile happy to have someone to banter with after the past few days.

"Uh-huh, an enterprising fellow named Saan, quite useful in the right situation," Oberyn observed, to which Quentyn snorted, "I will keep that name in mind."

Suddenly, they were disturbed by the appearance of Areo Hotah, Quentyn's sworn sword.

"Young master, our scouts report a large group of people making their way into the borders between Starpike and Dorne," the man reported, while everyone in the hallway froze.

"A large group, you say?" Quentyn asked, even as his brows narrowed down in thought.

"Are they armed? What are their numbers?" Oberyn asked after a pause.

"They are not soldiers, My Prince," Areo replied, with the signs of confusion appearing in his eyes.

"Not Soldiers?" William Dayne asked perplexed.

"No, Lord Dayne, they appear to be refugees from the Crownlands, making their way to the Dornish part of the pass," the bearded priest replied, at which Quentyn's eyes widened.

"Areo, assemble a company of horsemen, immediately. I will see this myself," the young prince made a quick decision then and there much to the confusion of everyone present.

* * *

After two hours of hard riding, their party came upon the plains between the Red Mountains and the Dornish Marches. As soon as they reached the cliffs, they stopped as they took in the sight before them. In front of them was a long column of people. Men, Women, Children, of all ages, in various states, with one underlying theme. All of them were completely destitute, and it seemed bereft of hope as well, as they looked at their faces.

"What is this?" Oberyn whispered as he looked at the human train that slowly was making its way forward.

"Refugees," Quentyn observed, "running away from the depredations of war. Looks like Robert Baratheon's hatred for the Targaryen's runs very deep indeed. Almost all of them are from the Crownlands by their looks."

"To establish power and influence takes decades of work," Quentyn continued, "but, to tear it down, a second is sufficient. All of them have lost everything that they and their forefathers had ever worked for, because they were vassals of House Targaryen. Robert is punishing them for being associated with Rhaegar and his family."

"Hmm," Oberyn mused, as he took in the scene before him.

Meanwhile, the refugees had also noticed their presence, and a group was making their way towards them.

"They are coming here, it seems they have noticed our presence," William Dayne groused, as everyone paused.

"They must be coming to beg for food," Oberyn realized. "Areo, arrange for some provisions to be handed over to those poor souls," Oberyn ordered, even as the bearded priest nodded and began to move.

"Hold, Areo," Quentyn stopped the man, as everyone turned to look at the young prince.

"Tell them," Quentyn hardened his tone, "that our provisions are reserved for fighting men. Tell them to go home!"

"What!?" Oberyn whirled around in shock, as did everyone else in the company.

"Be … Be careful! They can hear you!" William Dayne warned, but he was too late. Most of the advance party of the refugees who had come to them had already heard the prince's words.

The mood of most of the people who had come forward changed, even as their faces fell.

One of the men, who appeared to be their leaders threw down his bag on the ground dejectedly.

"Why do we need to beg?" he mused in a harsh tone, laced with bitterness.

"Since the fall of Kings Landing," the man continued, "we had hoped that the fighting would be quelled quickly, and that we could go back to rebuilding our lives. But, Robert Baratheon fell upon us just like a wolf that falls upon a new-born calf of a sheep," the man growled, as his face reddened up in anger.

"As if we had a chance," the man roared, "the small folk do not get to choose who their rulers are in this world! Was it our fault for being born in the lands that belonged to the Targaryen's? What did that stag expect? That we would refuse the mad king for his sake? He did not live every single moment of his life under that mad man's thumb! We did! And look what that got us! We thought the silver prince would save us, but the fool damned us more than his father ever did!" he sank to his foot in anguish, while glaring at Quentyn and his men.

"But, you," he glared at Quentyn, "You have the power and ability to stand against the demon stag! If you had been at the trident, we all would not be in this state today!"

"You have reason to be angry," Quentyn observed, "but this does not concern us in Dorne."

"You all have suffered, terribly, I admit," he continued, "but helping you now, will only hinder our war! Those precious rations are reserved for men who chose to stand against the tyranny of Robert Baratheon! For men who are willing to sacrifice everything to fight! We cannot share them with you! So, I bid you to go home!" he concluded, and made to turn back, when the leader of the refugees chuckled.

"Home!? You speak as if we have a home! As long as Robert Baratheon lives, no man, woman or child in the Crownlands who once served the Targaryen's are safe!" he concluded.

After a moment, he paused, and then turned to look at his fellow companions, and as if coming to an unspoken agreement, they all knelt down as one.

"Prince Quentyn!" the leader spoke out, "The world as we know it is in chaos! In this turbulent time, a bowl of brown and a loaf of bread is not enough to save ourselves and to live a peaceful life! Rather than starve to death in wartime … we would pledge our very last strength to an able man capable of ending this turmoil! Prince Quentyn! Please take us in! We are willing to fight for Dorne! If the Crownlands are lost to us, then we ask Dorne to take us in and shelter us, and in return, we will fight for her and die for her!" he roared out, even as his companions shouted in agreement.

Soon, the entire column of refugees was clamouring for Quentyn to take them in. Quentyn's company were dumbfounded and amazed as they watched the young prince of Dorne dismount from his horse and make his way through the column, as people fell over themselves to kneel before him and pledge fealty.

"Those who respond to changing times will prosper and those who do not, perish. The prince anticipates the most advantageous time to act. He even knows how to gauge people's minds. During this dire time, when our kingdom is fighting for its existence, we were able to recruit so many men, and that too without conscription, rations, or money! An entire regiment's worth of men like that without any effort! He really lives up to his name as an unparalleled genius," William Dayne spoke out in wonder.

"What's more amazing, is that these men do not need to be trained," Oberyn replied softly. "I recognize the leader of that refugee column. His name is Alliser Thorne. He is a knight of some renown in the Crownlands. These people are not your usual refugees, Lord Dayne. They say that after Rhaegar Targaryen died at the Trident, his army dismembered and its members fled to the four winds. To date, most of them have been unaccounted for. And that is because they have disguised themselves as refugees and are roaming around trying to find a safe haven from Robert Baratheon's wrath. And now, they have found it," he concluded, while his fellows looked around at the column of people before them in shock.

"Quentyn's battle at Starpike was not just a message to the Lords and Ladies of Westeros, but also to the remnants of Rhaegar Targaryen's army. It was a message to them all, stating that there is now a great general present in Westeros who is capable of defeating the Rebellion's forces," Oberyn whispered softly as everyone turned to look at him in shock.

"Of course," Oberyn smirked, "this little faction has now joined us. The remaining remnants of Rhaegar's army will also soon flock to us as well. That will add up to a truly astounding number!" his face glowed with a feral look in his eyes.

"He used just a few words to further change our fortunes," William Dayne observed in wonder. "In the end, Robert Baratheon is fighting to claim the throne, our prince on the other hand, is claiming the hearts and minds of the people. In the end, the people will choose who cares for them over the one who sits on the throne as their ruler. Brilliant! Absolutely brilliant! He understands truly well that not all battles are fought on the battlefield!"

"Things are coming to a boil, William," Oberyn observed, "The battle of Starpike brought him worldwide acclaim. His next, will cement it forever. I for one, cannot wait for the next battle. It will be a sight to see."

* * *

 **Author's note:**

One more chapter of developments left, and then we move on to the next battle. The poll was rather inconclusive, with three responses out of four having the same amount of votes. As such, I decided to merge the options together and build two chapter's overall.


	17. The Rains of Castamere

"On your feet, old fool!" a gaoler barked at the prisoner who was lying down on the broken cot in his cell.

"Yeah, the old lion is finally up, you get your trial as you wished," the other gaoler snarked as he pulled the broken old man up by his shoulder.

As the old man stood up, he glanced at the two gaolers with a melancholy smile and nodded. The three men silently made their way forward to the throne room of the Red Keep. All this time, during the entire way forward, the small folk and the servants who noticed the old man on the way to his trial became silent, and bowed their heads.

The gaolers if they noticed it, paid no heed. It was too risky to chastise the viewers or force them back. In the aftermath of Jaime Lannister's murder, spontaneous celebrations had sprung up all over the city of Kings Landing. The memories of the Lannister sack of the city were still raw and fresh. All the people who had suffered under the sack had taken vicious pleasure in publicly celebrating the death of the treasured son of the old lion of the west. Thanking the gods for justice, for fairness, they had taken enormous pains to ensure that all the members of the Westerlands who were present in the city witnessed these celebrations.

These had predictably inflamed the passions of the men of the West, who had lashed out harshly, wanting to put the small folk scum in their place. Many small-scale riots and scuffles had broken out between the Lannister Army soldiers and the small folk, and the gold cloaks were stretched to the breaking point in keeping the peace.

Realizing the dangers, Robert Baratheon had forced the Lannister army to move to Bitterbridge as soon as Tywin had regained consciousness, to maintain peace in the city. Thankfully, this occurred before a serious tragedy could transpire. However, the departure of the Lannister army was not without its own drama. As the men of the west began to set out, the people of the city who had come out to watch began to jeer and heckle the men, and shout out thanks to the heavens for the death of Jaime Lannister and wishes for the defeat of the said army.

It was a credit and testament to the discipline instilled in the army by Tygett Lannister, that the soldiers maintained their composure and walked out peacefully, even though their faces were blackened with rage.

Six days after the murder of Jaime Lannister, when Pycelle confirmed that Tywin was well enough to handle the day to day rigors of work, Robert immediately ordered the trial to take place.

* * *

Inside the throne room, all the nobles and leaders of the Rebellion gathered to witness this occasion. Present were Robert Baratheon, the King, Hoster Tully, the acting Hand of the King, Gyles Rosby, the Master of Coin, Varys, the Master of Whispers, as well as the leaders of the Northern and the Vale armies.

Separately from the rest, the contingent of the Westerlands led by Tywin Lannister stood. The very air around them was physically stifling, and their murderous intent could be sensed by everyone present in the room.

Soon, the herald announced the arrival of the prisoner, and an uneasy silence fell upon the hall. As everyone watched, with shackles binding his feet and manacles binding his hands, the prisoner awkwardly shuffled inside, being escorted by two gaolers from the black cells.

As they walked in, Tywin almost made to move, before he forcibly composed himself. The last few days had taken their toll on the former Hand of Aerys Targaryen. He seemed to have aged nearly ten years, even though he was just reaching 50 years of age.

As soon as the prisoner walked in, his eyes met that of Tywin's. For an instant, it appeared as if the world froze and averted its sight at the brilliance of two suns blazing in full strength and coming in front of each other. It was impossible to say which face showed more hatred for the other. It was a small consolation that Cersei Lannister had been packed off to Casterly Rock by force by her father. The young woman had become completely unhinged after the death of her twin, and had required constant sedation to keep her temper and rage under control. For her own safety, and that of everyone around her, she had been sent away, a scant comfort in the heat of the things.

As the prisoner walked in, and stood defiantly in the middle of the court, Robert Baratheon looked at the prisoner in detail for the first time. Old, and nearly seventy years of age, his wiry frame was indicative of the strength he had in his arms, with matted hair, and steel grey eyes, which had a sharp intelligence to them. There was more to this man than appeared.

With the absence of a Master of Laws, as Robert had not seen fit to appoint a replacement to the previous holder of the office, who had been burned alive by the Mad King, Hoster Tully took it upon himself to conduct the proceedings.

"You are Tybald, one of the gardeners of the Red Keep, are you not?"

The prisoner just nodded once in assent, his eyes never leaving Tywin as an unease spread throughout the hall.

"You are accused of the murder of Ser Jaime Lannister, anointed knight of the Kingsguard, son of Tywin Lannister, Lord Paramount of the West. You were observed by multiple witnesses committing the crime, and captured at the spot, with the weapon still in your hands. What say you to these charges?" Hoster groused, as he looked at the man in distaste.

The prisoner became still and then looked up at the ceiling. After a few moments, his voice was heard by all. A rather soft, and melodious tilt to it, and everyone jerked back to realize that he was singing a song, a very famous song at that.

* * *

 _One night, I hold on you_

 _Ooh, ooh, ooh, ooh, ooh, you_

 _Castamere, Castamere, Castamere, Castamere_

 _A coat of gold, a coat of red_

 _A lion still has claws_

 _And mine are long and sharp, my Lord_

 _As long and sharp as yours_

 _And so he spoke, and so he spoke_

 _That Lord of Castamere_

 _And now the rains weep o'er his halls_

 _With no one there to hear_

 _Yes, now the rains weep o'er his halls_

 _And not a soul to hear_

 _Ooh, ooh, ooh, ooh, ooh_

* * *

A deadly silence befell the hall, as everyone looked at the old man in shock, outraged at the audacity he had displayed in openly mocking Tywin Lannister by singing the very song that had immortalized the old lion throughout the world, at his son's murder trial.

"How much further does he intend to mock me?" Tywin whispered, trembling in a black rage, while Lord Brax, his closest attendant restrained him.

"Peace, My Lord, the King will not tolerate any interruptions, let the wretch explain himself. You will have justice, even the stag will not dare deny it to you!"

After a herculean effort, Tywin composed himself and continued to glare at the murderer of his son.

"What is the meaning of this?" Robert growled, his face contorted into a rictus of rage, while everyone in the throne room stiffened further.

"I explained my reasons, and motives for the murder, Your Grace," the old prisoner replied in a calm tone, while whispers broke out in the room.

With a glare, Hoster silenced the spectators and called out, "Explained! How?"

With a sigh, as if chiding a dull-witted student, the prisoner, Tybald, continued, "In the areas flooded by rain, where nothing seems to remain, there shall always be new life striving to grow. In those places, seeds old and new will bloom again," he finished, while most were taken aback.

Hoster was the first to get it. His face blanched, as he looked at the old man with absolute shock, "You! It cannot be! You people are still…," he began to speak before he cast a worried glance at Tywin, who was still trying to understand the meaning behind those words.

"What is going on, Hoster?" Robert asked impatiently, while the crowd began to show hints of restlessness.

"It is as he says, Your Grace," Hoster sighed, preparing himself for the fallout. "He has clearly explained his motive for killing Jaime Lannister by singing the Rains of Castamere."

"Rains of …" Robert began before jerking back on the Iron throne in shock. He muttered a silent curse as one of the blades pricked him as he moved, but his eyes were unswervingly on the prisoner.

" **Rain. You are a Reyne of Castamere!** " the King wondered in shock.

The result of this announcement was nothing short of apocalyptic. The throne room burst out into furious shouts of claims and counterclaims, and denials, while Tywin of all people, had gone as pale as a ghost and collapsed on his chair, with his face becoming listless, as he stared at the now revealed Tybald Reyne in complete horror.

"There are no Reyne's left! And I most certainly do not recall of your name amongst the members of House Reyne! I am certainly old enough to remember them!" Hoster insisted, as he stared at Tybald Reyne in a mixture of shock and curiosity, while throwing furtive glances at Tywin, and cursing himself for not anticipating this possibility.

" **No, there are, Tully** ," Tybald spoke curtly, "Did all those rotten fish you eat in that shithole of your homelands addle your brains!?" the prisoner asked harshly, while roars of condemnation and outrage poured at the audacity of the prisoner from the spectators.

Ignoring the outraged look of the acting hand, Tybald continued, "I am a Reyne by blood, not by name! I am the bastard brother of Robert Reyne, who was the father of the Red Lion, Roger Reyne!"

A hush fell upon the room, as everyone digested the fact that a self-proclaimed bastard, the lowest of low in the rigid societal hierarchy of Westeros, had managed to slay the heir of the most powerful Lord in Westeros.

"A bastard!? And you dared to kill my son!?" Tywin whispered, his fists clenched, his voice tremulous as he gazed at the man who had killed his son.

"Yes, Tywin, a bastard! A bastard, a being, whom you so eloquently term as sheep, as nobodies, as not worth considering, and he ... is the one who has laid your house low! Did you really think that just because you wiped out those who were in the castle of Castamere, you had quashed your enemies? Did it not even occur to you, you pride-addled fool, that those who died in the castle would have their own loved one's and families and friends spread all over the world, and that they would seek their revenge in the future? Did you really think that no one would dare to strike at you, just because you are a fucking Lannister? That no one would dare to shed your golden blood; you misbegotten son of a swine!? Are you really that arrogant? Are you that much of a fool?" he all but shouted, while the throne room had fallen deathly silent.

All were watching the bastard of House Reyne, with unmitigated horror and fear, while Tywin staggered as if someone had physically struck him with a hammer.

"In the end, Lannister," Tybald growled harshly, and with savage delight adorning his eyes, "You too are just a man, and you too can be hurt, you too can be made to bleed, and brought low! Lannister's are not invincible, and you most assuredly are not the only one's who pay their debts! There are many others of the same mind, and drive! All we had to do was look around, and there was an ocean's worth of people who had been wronged by you, waiting to get their revenge on your house ready to assist us!"

Tywin was staring in disbelief at the man, each of the words uttered piercing his very soul like a burning lance, bringing back old wounds, long forgotten back to the front.

"Assist?" Hoster caught on to that word quickly.

"So, there is a third party behind this all!" he exclaimed, "Of course, a nobody like you would not dare attempt such a thing without a powerful backer! Who is it? Who is the hand that wields you as a blade?" the acting hand asked with a cold tone, while Tybald proudly straightened his back and after looking at the room, replied.

"Don't soil your underwear, Tully! Of course, there is someone behind me!" he exclaimed at which the throne room became silent, while Tywin hardened his eyes.

"The remnants of House Reyne are few, and are descended out of bastards, yes, but we still owe our loyalty to our house! We were waiting and biding our time, when our patron discovered us and approached us! He was the one who devised this plan, the one who granted us the means and the resources to carry it out! All that required was for one person to sacrifice his life in the attempt to strike the blow against Tywin, and in return House Reyne would rise to prominence once again!"

 **"WHO? WHO IS IT, YOU WRETCH? WHO DARES TO STRIKE AGAINST ME?"** Tywin roared, finally losing his composure after receiving one shock too many, while his men physically restrained him from assaulting Tybald.

 **"Dorne!"** was the thunderous reply which shocked the room into silence, " **Prince Quentyn Martell of Dorne!** _The greatest mind to have been born in this world in the last thousand years! The invincible Prince of Dorne is the one who has set his sights on destroying you, you conscienceless motherfucker!_ " Tybald roared back at Tywin, who just stopped flat in his tracks, as if he had been struck dead.

He was not the only one. The whole throne room had become silent as a grave, as the bastard of Reyne revealed the guiding hand behind the strike against the Lannister's.

" _Just as the Manderly's of the Reach moved to the North, and became the stalwart vassals of Stark, so too will the resurgent House Reyne move from the West to Dorne, and serve the Martell's as the defenders of the Marches! We are now the Reyne's of Starpike! For my deed, my house's future is assured, and we shall become the sworn bannermen of House Martell!_ " Tybald roared out in defiance and laughed heartily, as the throne room descended into chaos.

* * *

Amongst all the spectators, apart from Tywin, none was more shocked than Robert Baratheon. Hoster looked close to having an aneurysm, while the small council were looking kittenish. All except Pycelle and Varys, who were hastily re-evaluating everything they knew about the young boy-prince of Dorne.

 **"Did you really think that you could order the rape and murder of a Princess of Dorne and her children and expect no repercussions, you fucking idiot?"** the question cut sharper than Valyrian steel with the intensity and the impact with which it hit everyone.

"All you fools in the small council, are you fucking idiots lacking any basic common sense? What in the name of the seven gods made you think that after all that has been said and done, that Dorne would simply accept what you dictated and surrender without a whimper? And you, Tywin, did you really think there would no be repercussions to your family personally? If you take the life of a Martell, what made you think that the Martell's would not take the life of a Lannister in response? Are you so arrogant, that your sense of self-worth transcends basic common sense?"

As the verbal lashing continued Tywin Lannister began to colour up, and his body began to shake uncontrollably, so much so, that it caused genuine alarm in his followers and forced Pycelle to run to his aid.

Robert Baratheon was red-faced, and was squirming in the throne room, sorely regretting allowing the trial to be public. He could not silence the spectators and the Martell's were gaining a fantastic coup of having pulled one over the Rebellion being proclaimed widely to the world all over.

"Listen to me, Tywin, and take the measure of the man whose ire you have earned!" Tybald called out, and Tywin turned to look at him with pure murder writ on his face.

"Quentyn Martell is the most brilliant mind to have born in this world, and I do not make this claim lightly. And your son is not the first Lannister to die by his command, and he will not be the last!" he announced and a bombshell it was, as the crowd again broke into an uproar.

Unheeding of the uproar, Tybald continued knowing that sooner or later he would be silenced, " _Did you really think that your brother Kevan died of a riding accident?_ " he asked with a cruel smirk as the crowd again reeled at another unknown revelation.

Kevan Lannister's death had been announced as a riding accident to preserve morale by the small council, but it would seem, it was going to be short-lived. Of course Tywin knew the truth, but by phrasing it as a question in public, Tybald had struck a deathly blow to the reputation of House Lannister.

"Quentyn's schemes are not that easy for one with a limited mind, such as you, to grasp! By killing your brother, he is forcing you to choose between protecting the West from the Ironborn or taking revenge against the murder of your son! If you choose revenge, you would abandon your entire Kingdom to the Ironborn's depredations, and after such a move, how long do you think it will be before they seek a new Lord? But if you choose to save the West, that would mean you have admitted in front of the entire world that you are not capable of standing up to the Martell's and are running away with your tail tucked behind your legs!" he chuckled heartily while everyone turned to look at the old lion.

Whispers began to permeate throughout the room, while Robert and Hoster began to get irritated. They had finally realized that Quentyn Martell was using this man as a sacrificial mouthpiece to trumpet his own achievements and demoralize his enemies, namely them. Unfortunately for them, it was working, and they could not stop the trial in-between, as it would send the message that they feared what Quentyn was trying to convey through this man. It was a vexing thought.

Tywin was going through so many emotions at the moment, that it was hard for him to focus. A blinding hatred had erupted in his heart, as the machinations of the one's who sought to lay him low were laid bare.

"Of course, this is but one of the smallest of his ploys! It is an easy thing for him to get rid of your house anytime, but he does not want it," Tybald finished with a flourish. "As he has shown, the reach of the serpents of Dorne is long and their bite is deep! It is but a small matter for his assassins to slip into Casterly Rock and poison the food supplies of your people and the entirety of House Lannister will end up dead in a trice! But he does not want that! NO, TYWIN! Your suffering will be legendary! Quentyn will take everything that you treasure and trample it to dust in front of you, while you will not be able to do a damn thing to stop him! You seek a legacy of a thousand years! You fool yourself, Quentyn will be the one who will now decide the legacy of your house! He will take everything you cherish, destroy it and trample it to the ground, and you will be forced to watch, helplessly, unable to do a damn thing! You will beg for the mercy of death, but it will not be granted to you! You will die only when Quentyn Martell decides it is time for you to die! In the end, history will remember you as the arrogant fool who led his house to absolute destruction, _one weaker than his father …_ ," at that moment, Tywin gave an absolutely horrendous screech and pushed his men aside and ran towards Tybald.

He pulled out a dagger and stabbed the man, repeatedly, dozens of times, then hundreds of times, screaming incoherently, but in all this, before his last moments, Tybald Reyne noticed Tywin's eyes. At the beginning Tybald tried to fend off Tywin, but his shackles coupled with his old age sapped him of the required strength. Heedless, Tywin writhed and flailed stabbing him relentlessly with tears streaming from his eyes. Despite the pain, Tybald recognized them as tears of defeat, and content that he had avenged his dead kin, he closed his eyes forever.

Incoherently, Tywin kept on stabbing the corpse, screaming, **"I AM NOT WEAK! I WILL RAZE DORNE TO THE GROUND! EVEN IF I HAVE TO SLAUGHTER EVERY MAN, WOMAN AND CHILD IN THAT CURSED LAND! EVEN IF I HAVE TO SLAUGHTER MILLIONS AND MY NAME IS REVILED THROUGHOUT HISTORY! YOU HEAR ME REYNE! THIS IS NOT OVER! THIS IS JUST THE BEGINNING! TYWIN LANNISTER WILL NOT BE BROUGHT LOW BY THIS DEBAUCHED STRIPLING DESCENDED OF WHORES AND WEAKLINGS!"**

"He doesn't need to! He already has brought you low! Look at yourself!" a voice full of scorn fell upon his ears even as he was dragged away, from what could only be generously described as a piece of meat, and not a corpse.

Tywin whirled around, only to see Hoster Tully pulling him away, with a look of disgust adorning his face, even as he noticed the entire throne room looking at him in absolute shock. At that moment, Tywin realized, that by forcing him to this state in open view, Quentyn Martell had already won against him in the court of public opinion. As he lowered his head in shame, hating himself for displaying such weakness in front of the world in such an irrevocable fashion, he steadfastly ignored the mocking laughter of Aerys Targaryen assailing him from the depths of his memories.

* * *

 **Author's note:**

Before any of you complain, how Quentyn set up the Reyne's to kill Jaime will be explained in the next chapter. An interlude depicting the remnants of House Reyne.


	18. The Road to Bitterbridge - Part 1

"And thus, ended the trial for the murder of Ser Jaime Lannister, My Lords and Lady," Lord Mathis Rowan, who had been present in Kings Landing as the representative of the Reach, reported to the inner council of Mace Tyrell, the Lord of Highgarden, Lord Paramount of the Reach, and the Warden of the South. It had been four days since the infamous trial of Tybald Reyne and its effects were being felt all over Westeros.

In attendance were Mace Tyrell, Olenna Tyrell, Leyton Hightower, Alester Florent, Baelor Hightower, and most surprisingly, Randyll Tarly.

After the massive defeat at the Battle of Starpike, Mace had quickly recalled Randyll Tarly to Highgarden for consultations, over the protests of his Lords who were still wary of an Ironborn attack. Mace had rebuffed those concerns stating that as long as the Redwyne Navy was present, the Ironborn would not make a concerted effort to attack, which thankfully for him had proven true.

Amongst all the members present in the room, Olenna Tyrell was feeling very apprehensive as she took in the presence of all the Lords in the room. More than the ill news that they were receiving, it was the cold shoulder that she had received from the survivors of the Starpike massacre after the battle that worried her. Ever since they had returned from the battle, she had discerned a marked difference in the behavior of certain Lords of the Reach especially with regards to her personally.

Even more concerning was the fact that upon returning from the battle, Leyton Hightower had asked Mace to come with him on a hunt, so that they may use it as an excuse to discuss something in private and in confidence away from prying eyes and ears. Of course, once she learned that Leyton had taken Mace aside to convey terms he had actually received from Quentyn Martell himself, she had tried to interject herself into that conversation, but Leyton had curtly rebuffed her and told her that the words were for Mace, and Mace alone.

While she had been taken aback at the fact that a vassal lord, even if he was related to her by marriage, had dared to say no to her; she had furiously launched a diatribe against Leyton displaying why she was called the 'Queen of Thorns'. After everything was said and done, Leyton had calmly asked his son-in-law a simple question.

 _Are you the ruler of the Reach or is it your mother?_

For the first time in his life, Mace had been well and truly taken aback. Leyton had pressed on heedless of Olenna's outrage. The old lord had calmly asked his son-in-law if he trusted his bannermen to deal with him in good faith or not, and asked him if he needed his mother to hold his hands in every single matter? The fact was that Leyton Hightower by virtue of being Mace's father-in-law, was the only man alive and something akin to a father figure that the Lord of Highgarden had; and as such, was the only man alive who had the capability and the right to speak to Mace in that way. And it had worked, even though it had earned Leyton Hightower the undying enmity of Olenna Tyrell.

Against the wishes of a spluttering and shocked Olenna Tyrell, Mace had simply asked his good-father to get on his horse, so that they could discuss the terms sent by Quentyn Martell in private. For two days, Mace and Leyton had gone to Mace's private hunting lodge, along with all the commanders who had survived that massacre at Starpike. Her spies in the lodge could not tell her anything as Leyton Hightower had taken care to ensure that only his servants were allowed to take over the maintenance of the Lodge during that trip, and the usual complement of servants had been kept at arms bay, which also, she knew had kept her own spies from learning anything of significance. Once they had returned, there had been a marked difference in Mace Tyrell's behavior.

For one, he was seen interacting with Alester Florent on decent terms, which was a gargantuan improvement in his behavior. Considering the fact that the two men had nearly come to blows just a week ago when the initial news of the defeat of Starpike had arrived, and only her intervention had kept it from descending into bloodshed, this change was nothing short of miraculous.

Second was the message to recall Randyll Tarly from the front where the Ironborn had attacked. However, all of that had come to a standstill when a news that rocked Westeros to its core had come forth. The murder of Jaime Lannister. The prized heir of the Old Lion of the West. The son that Tywin Lannister valued above all else. The sheer fact that someone in Westeros had the means to commit such an act, let alone possess the gall to do something like this to Tywin Lannister of all people had thoroughly shaken her to her core.

In the depths of her mind, she knew it. It was the work of that cursed demon brat from Dorne. She knew it in the depths of her soul. But she did not dare voice it out loud. Not when it seemed like her hold on her own son seemed so tenuous.

* * *

"What do you make of it, good-father?" Mace asked Leyton with a deep frown marring his face, even as the old Lord of Hightower paused to think before replying. There was another unwelcome change. Ever since that trip to the hunting lodge, Mace had begun to ask Leyton for advice more often than her.

"In warfare," Leyton began after a pause, "the one who hits the opponent's vulnerable point wins. Usually, the two opposing sides in war always stay put, until the enemy exposes his vulnerable side, and then attacks it ruthlessly to win. That is one of the most basic essences of waging war. And the Prince of Dorne, it seems has just demonstrated that to the world. What say you Randyll, do you agree with this assessment?" the Lord of Hightower asked his fellow general who had been listening impassively to everyone from the beginning.

"Aye," the Lord of Hornhill replied in a guttural tone. He was a very physically imposing man. Tall, stern with a sharp face, and balding of hair, he cut an intimidating figure to all who came across him. "Before battle," the top-most general of the Reach continued, "one must use diplomacy, mindset, strategy and if necessary … assassination."

Here he paused, while everyone in the room absorbed the words very carefully.

"Prince Quentyn," there was a definite tinge of respect in Randyll Tarly's tone, "is one who has embodied these concepts flawlessly from the beginning. He has grasped the fact that wars are not fought solely on the battlefield alone but are fought on multiple fronts where the enemies least expect it. With Jaime Lannister's assassination, there can be no doubt. His primary enemy is House Lannister, above all else. To that effect, I would not be surprised if he considers the entire Rebellion to be a mere thorn in the way of destroying the Lannister's, no more no less. The only reason in my opinion as to why he is waging war against the Rebellion, is because they have accepted Tywin into their fold. If they had but refused Tywin and had taken steps to bring the perpetrators of Elia Martell's death to justice, he would have bent the knee. Since they have not, he has proceeded to take matters into his own hands. And now, he is treating the entire Rebellion like a weed which must be cleared before he moves further on his road to destroying the Lannister's!"

After a moment's silence, there was a scoff. Predictably, it was from Olenna. Most of the Lords in the room managed to suppress their irritation, but Mace did not. Tarly was impassive as ever, like a block carved from granite.

"From what I can see, his reputation as a genius is well-deserved. In just one battle, he has displayed multiple capabilities, which are not visible from the get go. Not only does he possess brilliant battlefield planning, which the battle of Starpike can attest to," Randyll continued at a motion from Mace, who shot a withering glare at his mother.

"The heart of it is his magnificent pre-battle diplomacy. Closing of his enemy's support and preparing contingency plans for any unforeseen situation. This can be seen through the actions of the Ironborn. Generally, the Ironborn have always stuck to reaving and pillaging, never have their actions resembled anything remotely akin to a strategy like what they are showing now. Attacking multiple targets at the same time through stealth, and taking away valuable resources needed by the Rebellion for war purposes is a masterstroke, whose effects cannot be denied. By using the Ironborn in such a way, he has kept the Rebellion distracted. Due to the possibility of the reavers attacking anytime, already Tywin Lannister and Hoster Tully have sent back the bulk of their forces to their homelands, thereby drastically reducing the overall strength of Robert Baratheon's forces. Second, due to the reaving of the Ironborn, all seaborne trade has slowed down to a trickle, which makes the Rebellion depend upon land routes to resupply and replenish their armies. It forces an unbearable strain on their forces when they have to cart tons of supplies over hundreds of leagues in hard terrain, which is not feasible over long-term. Already, there are rumors of shortages of food around the Crownlands. In this scenario, it is very easy to slip in a team of raiders to sabotage the supply trains. And finally, by taking direct action, he is forcing Robert Baratheon to come and meet him in these unfavorable situations. If Robert Baratheon dallies anymore, his men's morale will drop, and the lack of supplies will make them near mutinous. To avoid this, Robert Baratheon will be forced to march into a desert with a depleted army that is ill-supplied and ill-prepared to face a superior foe. That is the overall gist of the situation at hand, My Lord," Randyll finished his observations while everyone looked at him in no small degree of awe, for the succinct and precise way in which he had summarized the whole situation.

* * *

"And what say you, My Lords of the Reach?" Mace Tyrell asked after a few minutes of silence.

"You have bent your knee to Robert Baratheon. Keep to it," his mother rudely interrupted as was her wont, while the members of the council became silent.

"Mother, I asked them, not you, do not interrupt," Mace asked his mother with as much dignity as he could muster. Olenna brushed him off again, as she was used to doing so often.

"Pish-posh, Mace," she scoffed, "Listen to me, all of you. It is now clear, that we are in a civil war," she continued, while the eyes of the Lords of the Reach hardened. Though they all disliked her behavior, they could not deny that she could be surprisingly insightful at times.

"I admit, that I underestimated the boy from Dorne, badly," and that was a supremely generous concession from the woman who was notoriously averse to accepting her faults, even when she had realized that she was in the wrong.

"However, despite the humiliation at Starpike," here she glanced imperiously at Leyton who returned her gaze with a cold stare, "we are still one of the key powers in Westeros. It is now obvious to me, as to why the boy has not taken any further actions against us, despite his victory. He desires us, and our resources, and wants an alliance with us," she concluded triumphantly much to the shock of everyone present.

"So," she crowed imperiously, "My guess was right, he has invited Mace for talks on a one-on-one basis? Am I correct, Leyton?" she finished with a smug look on her face.

Knowing that it was impossible for him to hide it any further, Leyton nodded.

"Hmph, that boy is grasping at straws now," she scoffed, "Despite all the successes he has had, he is starved for resources. And now, he wants us to throw in our lot with him. I say, you deny him, and join up with Robert Baratheon. If we help the new king on the Iron Throne to wipe out the Martell's, we will be in an unassailable position in the new world order that is developing. It will wipe off all the bad blood between us and the Baratheon's. We will gain a seat on the small council, and perhaps even a marriage for one your sisters with Stannis Baratheon, who is the current heir apparent, and the Lord Paramount of the Stormlands as well. Against all this, what can the boy from Dorne offer?" she challenged, while the other Lords absorbed her words.

Then, Alester Florent replied with a scathing tone, "Those were oddly specific terms of rewards that you spoke of, My Lady! How is it that you can so certainly say that these are the very rewards we can gain? Are you perhaps in direct contact with someone from the Rebellion?" he asked, as a very grave silence descended in the room.

After all, Lord Florent had all but accused the mother of his liege lord of conspiring with the Iron Throne behind the backs of her own son, the ruling Lord of the Reach.

"Watch your words, Alester, that is my mother you speak to," Mace stood up in anger, his jowls quivering, and his eyes bloodshot. Though he had gained a newfound tolerance of the Florent's behavior, he drew the line at this. Despite all her shortcomings, Olenna was still his mother, and he refused to believe that his mother would so blatantly go behind his back.

"I beg your pardon, My Lord, but I have irrefutable proof that your mother has been in direct correspondence with the Iron Throne behind your back, and has made decisions that may very well affect all of the Reach, without your leave or your knowledge," Alester shot back in anger, while all the Lords in the room jumped to their feet.

"How dare you? You worthless piece of trash!" Olenna screamed as she stood up, her face red in anger, and displaying quite a bit of shock at the blatant accusation. "You are worthless beggars, trying to beg any and all sundry to press your claims over the Reach, claiming your descent from the Gardeners! Oh, we should have wiped out your miserable no good house from the start! How dare you lay an accusation on your liege lords? Who do you think you are, you swine? You, who could not even prevail against a little boy on the battlefield! You worthless excuse of a warrior!" she began to rant, at which the other survivors of Starpike stood up unable to bear that insult.

Say what you would about Alester Florent, the one thing that no man on the planet could not deny was his courage on the battlefield.

"I presume you have proof of your accusations, Alester?" Mace asked after a moment, shocking everyone, including his own cantankerous mother as well into stunned silence.

"Mace!" Olenna whispered in a strangled silence, "How could you? You would believe him over your own mother?" she asked with tears springing to her eyes, while Mace Tyrell for the first time visibly in front of his bannermen, hardened himself.

"I am the Lord Paramount of the Reach, mother! I may not be the best of Lords, or the wisest, or the bravest, but I am their lord and I have an obligation to hear them out. If there is one thing my father taught me before his death, it was that a lord who does not listen to his vassals does not remain a lord for long," he smiled wanly, as the assembly watched him thunder-struck displaying a sense of magnanimity rarely seen.

Olenna was so shocked at hearing her son make such sense, that she lost her composure for a minute.

"I hope you have your proof, Lord Florent," Mace replied with a hint of steel entering his tone, "If it is as you say, then you will have done the Reach a great service, and I will deal with my mother, as the situation demands. But if you are wrong, I will have your head for falsely accusing my mother!"

"I would not have dared so, if I did not have it, and I would not have made this accusation in the first place," Alester growled, as everyone took their seat.

"Well, let us see it, Florent," Tarly asked, with a hint of a smile approaching his lips.

At that, Alester Florent stood up, and walked to the door of the hall and knocked thrice. Immediately, the guards opened the door from the other side, and after a few moments Alester moved aside and let a new person walk in.

Instantly, Olenna Tyrell's heart sank, and she slumped into her chair. It was Maester Lomys.

"What is the meaning of this?" Mace asked, as he and everyone observed Olenna's reaction, while Lomys entered and bowed.

"Proof, My Lord," Alester replied with a savage grin, "Proof that Lady Olenna has been engaging in correspondence with the Iron Throne without your knowledge or your consent, Maester Lomys has the details," he concluded as all eyes turned to the old man.

"Is this true?" Mace asked, rather breathlessly, as all eyes turned towards the old maester. He wilted for a second as Olenna glared at him, but Mace whirled at him. " _You are a maester of the citadel! You are sworn to serve the Lord of your keep and no one else! I hold you to your oath! Answer me!_ " he roared, while Lomys lowered his eyes.

"It is as Lord Florent says, My Lord!" Lomys replied as he averted his gaze from Olenna who shrunk into her seat. "Three days ago, I received a message from King Robert addressed to your mother with orders for the Reach!"

His reply rocked all the Lords to their bones, and they all turned to look at Olenna Tyrell who was trying very hard to avoid their gaze.

"What? Why would he write to her and not me?" Mace whispered in shock, as he sank into his chair listlessly while the other Lords seemed flummoxed.

"Because he does not consider you as the Lord of the Reach," Leyton Hightower growled, "Or rather, he considers your mother to be true ruler of the Reach!"

At this, all the men in the room bristled. Regardless of how capable or incapable he was, Mace Tyrell was the undisputed Lord of the Reach, and a Warden of Westeros. For even a King, to ignore and humiliate him in this manner was unprecedented and unseen. It offended the senses of all the Lords of the Reach greatly. _Did the stag really consider a woman to be worth more than all the Lords of the Reach combined?_

"How dare he?" Mace trembled in anger, "Who does he think he is?"

"What does he write?" Randyll Tarly asked with a dark look on his face.

At that, Lomys took out a scroll with a broken seal of the Iron Throne out of his pocket, while Olenna glared at him.

"The King has stated," the maester began, before he collected himself, "No, rather it is safe to say, he has ordered us in no certain terms, that we are not to make common cause with House Martell. He warns us that if we do so, then the fate that befell House Targaryen will pale in comparison to what he will inflict upon House Tyrell, and consecutively, the Reach!" here he paused, while the faces of all the men in the room turned murderous at the blatant threat.

"That fucking piece of shit! Who does he think he is?" Mace roared in anger and kicked his chair aside, trembling in rage, while all the Lords of the Reach fumed in their seats, their tempers clearly matching their liege's.

"Did he forget the thrashing we gave to him at Ashford?" Leyton Hightower growled.

"We should have stormed Storm's End and put an end to his miserable family! If we had done that, he would not have dared to dictate terms to us! He thinks us weak and malleable! His victories over Rhaegar Targaryen have made him arrogant beyond belief," groused Randyll, while most of the men's faces turned sour as they remembered their greatest blunder in the course of the Rebellion.

"What else does he say?" asked Mathis Rowan, from the corner of the table, to which Lomys looked down.

"He states that if we remain loyal to the crown, then our service will be rewarded suitably. A position on the small council," here all lords turned as one to look at Olenna who winced, "as well as a marriage for one of the sisters of Lord Tyrell to Prince Stannis Baratheon," now, the glares all turned murderous as they all visibly fumed at the condescending tone of their new king.

"Does he take us for beggars, to be satiated with a few crumbs? What does he think we are? That we lack any honor, that we will shamelessly grovel in front of him for his favor? He is not even officially crowned, and he already assumes such airs! What will he do once he actually crowns himself?" Mace visibly fumed, while the other men of the Reach were of a similar bent of mind.

"Here is the letter, My Lord," Lomys handed the letter to Mace who took it and began to read it personally. After he finished reading it, he threw it to the table in disgust, while Leyton Hightower picked up the letter. Once he finished, he scowled even as he passed it on to Randyll Tarly who began to read it for himself. Once Tarly finished, he growled and similarly passed it on to the next person beside him. Once all the Lords present at the table had finished reading it, Mace took a deep breath and turned to his mother who had defiantly turned her chin up and was glaring at all of them daring them to challenge her.

"Mother, what is the meaning of this? How do you explain your treachery?" Mace growled, as he looked at his mother as if he was seeing her for the first time.

"Treachery! Foolish boy! I was doing what was right for our house! To save us all from the wrath of Robert Baratheon! If you call that treachery, then I will do it a thousand times over!" she retorted harshly, while Mace colored up.

"That is not your decision to make!" he growled, even as he glared at her. "By accepting this letter, you have revealed to the world that my opinion does not matter in the Reach! Can you not see or understand how that weakens the Reach as a whole? You should have let me know that you had received the letter as soon as it reached you! What were you doing hiding it like this? Were you hoping to badger me into accepting this when we were alone?" he asked in a pained tone.

As he noticed Olenna looking rather peevish at that, he finally made a decision. "Mother, leave this room! Now!"

As one, all the Lords of the Reach in the room jerked back, their eyes wide in shock.

"What?" Olenna whispered, unable to believe her own ears.

"You have betrayed my trust! I cannot in good faith, allow you to have any more say in the affairs of the Reach!" Mace growled, while Olenna trembled in shock.

"Don't be daft, Mace! You need me! You are not capable of navigating the game of thrones without my aid!" she growled, while Mace reddened up spectacularly.

He turned around and looked at Olenna's two bodyguards, two huge men, whose names no one knew, but were generally called left and right, and ordered them to come in.

Once they entered, "Take my mother to her chambers! She is to stay there, until I say otherwise," he ordered, and he turned to Lomys, "And Maester! My mother is no longer permitted to send any messages via ravens to anyone without my say! And if anyone writes to her directly, you are to bring those messages to me first!" he ordered, at which, Lomys bowed in agreement.

He turned around and froze as he saw that his mother's bodyguards just stood there blankly, while Olenna stood defiantly between the two men.

"What the hell are you two fools doing? I gave you an order! Escort my mother to her chambers!" Mace roared in anger, to which the two men blinked and stared at Olenna as if asking her what to do.

That action, more than anything else wounded Mace's soul deeply. _Was he considered so weak that even the servants deemed his mother as the true ruler of the Reach, instead of him?_

The next moment, he saw red and a haze of anger descended upon him like a hawk descended upon its prey. In an instant, he drew his sword from the side of his table, and lashed out at the man called left, one of his mother's guards.

The stroke caught the man precisely on his neck and sliced it deeply open. The man collapsed to the ground like a puppet which had its strings cut. He struggled for a few minutes and went still, as his blood flowed freely on the floor.

" **I AM THE LORD OF THE REACH! YOU OBEY ME! NOT HER! YOU FOOLS SERVE AT MY PLEASURE, NOT HERS! DO YOU UNDERSTAND? DO AS I COMMAND!"** he roared with anger, while the other man, Right, blanched and clearly, from the smell of it, had soiled himself. He immediately bowed as deep as he could and grabbed Olenna Tyrell by her hands and forced her to move forward.

All the people in the room paled in shock, and looked at Mace with disbelief rife in their eyes.

Olenna looked at her son, with sorrow mixed with a faint hint of pride and said, "Mace, all I did, I did for our family! You must understand that," she spoke out, while Mace forced himself to calm down.

"I know, mother," he spoke out, "but in doing so, you betrayed my trust, and that, I cannot forgive, at least for now," he spoke as kindly as he could, while Olenna gave a sad smile and walked out of the room.

As he watched his mother leave, Mace Tyrell sighed and felt as if he had been relieved of a great burden which he had not realized. Meanwhile, at Leyton's orders, the servants had come in and carried out the corpse of Olenna's unfortunate bodyguard out and cleaned up the floor as much as they could.

"My apologies, My Lords," Mace spoke out softly, "I was remiss in not realizing the extent of my mother's actions, and they may have unwittingly harmed the Reach, even if they were well intended," he spoke out, while Randyll pulled out Mace's chair from the ground and set it up again.

"No apologies are necessary, My Lord," Tarly continued, "Please, take your place," the Lord of Hornhill continued, even as he pointed out the empty chair.

As he moved forward, Mace turned around and looked at Alester Florent, "I thank you Lord Alester, and beg your forgiveness for the harsh words uttered by my mother. I will see you suitably compensated for the insult given by my mother, and will ensure that she apologizes to you, in person. And I thank you for bringing my mother's indiscretions to my notice."

Alester, who had clearly not expected this development, was more than gracious in his victory. He and the survivors of Starpike were quick to realize what the exile of Olenna Tyrell from the affairs of the Reach meant. He could afford to be gracious in this case, "No apologies are necessary, My Lord. I acted only as a loyal Reachman should."

Nodding, Mace took his seat. He realized that all of his vassals were now looking at him with a level of respect that was absent from before. And to gain it, all it had cost was his relationship with his mother. It was a bitter pill to swallow.

* * *

Mace turned around to look at his father-in-law, "Good-father," he began, "I am in desperate need of advice. Advise me, what should I do next? How do we proceed?"

After pausing to reorganize his thoughts after the momentous occasion that had occurred, Leyton Hightower replied.

"We have heard, or rather been dictated terms, by our new King, Robert Baratheon. Seeing as we have heard one side of this civil war, I think it only fair that you accept the terms set by Prince Quentyn Martell and meet with him to see what the other side has to offer as well," he advised.

"I agree," Alester Florent rumbled, "At the very least, the young Prince of Dorne has dealt with us far more respectfully than the stag, despite having no need to do so, after winning the battle against us. And he has shown more respect to you, than Robert Baratheon ever has, and most likely, ever will!"

"I too agree, My Lord," Randyll Tarly spoke out, "Clearly, Robert Baratheon has not forgotten that we stood with House Targaryen and that we came close to starving his brothers to death. He will never respect us and will always view us with suspicion. Furthermore, he is a very prideful man, and the results of Ashford will always make him deal with us in an aggressive manner. A man who is ashamed of something, will always lash out in anger to hide his shame, and we, the cause for that shame in the first place, will bear the brunt of his wrath. At the very least, we must hear out the Prince of Dorne. We owe it to him. We cannot make decisions arbitrarily or be cowed by threats. Let us hear the offer of the Prince of Dorne, at least."

Mace considered the suggestions very carefully, knowing that the next step he would take, would decide the fate of the Reach. Then, as he caught sight of Mathis Rowan, he paused.

"Lord Rowan," he called out, "Correct me if I am wrong, but did not the murderer of Jaime Lannister identify himself as a Reyne? And did he not say that the Reyne's had been promised Starpike for their actions?"

"Yes, My Lord, he did," Mathis Rowan admitted, while Mace frowned.

"And yet, the Prince of Dorne stated to my good-father that he would return Starpike to me, if I agreed to meet with him? What am I to make of this duplicitous behavior?" he growled, while Leyton Hightower frowned.

"Indeed," he admitted to his son-in-law, "I too am at a loss in understanding this. He did not come out as a deceitful person or one who lies so capriciously!" he paused, "Either way, we will know the truth of it, when we go to meet with him! We can ask him the truth of it directly," he pointed out, and after a moment's consideration, Mace nodded in agreement.

"Very well, make preparations! Maester Lomys, send a raven to Starpike, and inform Quentyn Martell that I accept his request for peace negotiations! And Lord Tarly, I will not allow Robert Baratheon to threaten the Reach as he pleases. As I have said earlier, Paxter Redwyne can handle the Ironborn, but we need your army to act as the shield of the Reach, now! _Send ravens to your commanders and have them move the army of the Reach towards Bitterbridge_!"

Though he did not know it at the time, Mace Tyrell's last order would prove very fortuitous in the near future.

* * *

 **KINGS LANDING, AT THE SAME TIME,**

* * *

At the middle of the night, Robert Baratheon was rudely interrupted by his bodyguard, who came inside his room to wake him up.

Groggily, he woke up, "Hmmm…Othell, what is it"

"Beg pardon, Your Grace, but Lords Varys and Lord Hoster Tully are outside, and they say they need to speak to you on a matter of great importance."

"Admit them in," Robert spoke quickly, as he put on a robe, and cleaned himself up.

Soon, Varys simpered in, in billowing robes with both his arms stuck inside his sleeves, followed by Hoster Tully, who was also in his nightclothes. Varys was unflappable as ever, while Hoster seemed unusually agitated.

"Yes, Varys, what is it?" Robert directly came to the point. Hoster would have waited till daybreak if it was something he wanted to discuss, but seeing the look on his face, he could surmise that their spymaster had tumbled upon some grave information which he wished to convey immediately.

"Your grace! My little birds have informed me that Lord Tywin has countermanded your order to Ser Tygett and has ordered him to sack Bitterbridge! He has asked his brother to, and I quote "Make sure that the sack of Kings Landing pales in comparison to what you do at Bitterbridge! Let the world know that Lannister's will not be toyed with! The Lannister army will reach Bitterbridge by daybreak, and there is nobody who can stop them at this time!"

For a moment, Robert was taken aback as he stared at Varys with jaws wide open in disbelief. Disbelief turned to incredulity and then, incredulity turned to rage.

"Damn him! Damn the man to seven hells! Who the hell does he think he is? What is the meaning of this treachery? Does he not know that such an action will push the Tyrell's on the side of the Martell's?" he snarled, as he began to pace around.

"I fear that is exactly what he wants," Hoster bit out angrily, as he sank onto a chair. "I am afraid that the resurgence of House Reyne and his son's assassination at the hands of the Martell's has pushed him to the edge of his sanity. This is the greatest defeat he has suffered in his entire life. All his life, he has been acknowledged by the world because he wiped out the Reyne's and established himself as a man to be feared. For the lowest of the Reyne's to return at the twilight of his life, and kill his dearly loved son, has in the eyes of the world rendered all that he has accomplished till now, irrelevant! The very reason for his existence and his legacy has been threatened like never before! He is lashing out in anger and desperation! I fear that Quentyn Martell may have broken him for good! He is now like a wounded lion which is at its most dangerous and does not differentiate between friend and foe!"

"I must agree with Lord Tully!" Varys admitted, "Lord Tywin's mind-state since the death of his son has been rather alarming, so much so that people are actually fearing to stay near his side! I believe that Lord Tywin now no longer cares about anything except revenge against House Martell!"

"Which is detrimental to our cause!" shouted Robert in anger. "Damn it, I have no choice! I will have to order him to call back the Lannister Army!"

"That would be most unwise!" Hoster Tully interjected, "Right now, Tywin's alliance with us teeters on a knife-edge. If you order him to do something against his will, he might very well rebel and secede from the Iron Throne in a bid to pursue his revenge independently! Then our cause is truly lost!"

"Then, what do you suggest we do?" Robert asked, as he bit on his hand to force himself to calm down.

"As of now, Tywin cannot be reasoned with. He is making his way towards Starpike, I am certain of it! And Bitterbridge is in the path, and he is dealing with it in the usual manner in which he deals with his enemies. And because of Bitterbridge, and as a consequence of what will happen there due to his orders, the Tyrell's are most likely lost to us! Once the Lannister's sack Bitterbridge, Mace Tyrell will throw his lot in with Quentyn Martell, and we cannot do anything about it! Our threat to Olenna Tyrell will lose its value, as every man, woman and child in the Reach will be screaming for revenge! If he values his life and his honor, Mace Tyrell will have no choice but to declare war against us," Hoster rapidly calculated, as he began to pace around.

"I would say the same, but Lord Hoster puts it more eloquently," Varys admitted.

"Then, what will be our next course of action?" Robert asked as he poured out three cups of wine and handed over two of them to the two men.

"Let Tywin do all the heavy lifting and take upon himself the responsibility for all the evils that his men will commit. At the rate he is carrying on, he will soon self-destruct and ruin himself and his house. Our aim should be to make maximum use of him and his men, before we dispose them off once their use runs out. In a way, this works out to our advantage. Tywin does the dirty work, but you reap the benefits. Even in his maddened state, Tywin is capable of wreaking terrific damage, and all the better for us, if it is directed at our enemies, rather than us."

Robert looked at Hoster with something akin to horrified awe, while Varys reeled at the callousness of the Lord Paramount of the Riverlands. The eunuch again reminded himself forcefully, that Hoster Tully was not a man to be underestimated by any means. There was a reason why House Tully had ruled the Riverlands for four hundred years without any issues; the lands which had seen more warfare from the beginning of time than anywhere else in Westeros.

"So be it," Robert ordered after a moment's contemplation.

* * *

 **STARPIKE CASTLE, AT THE SAME TIME,**

* * *

At the same time, in Starpike castle, Quentyn had received the same message that Varys had delivered to Robert. Oberyn had been shaken by the contents of the message, while Quentyn was silent as ever, even as both of them sat in Quentyn's chambers discussing what this meant for their overall goals.

"Did you plan for this?" Oberyn asked after a moment's contemplation, as he gazed at his nephew, wondering whether he was capable of orchestrating death on such a scale just to suit his needs.

"Of course not," Quentyn replied back, "I am a general, not a mindless beast! Such senseless slaughter serves no purpose! I had expected my strike to unbalance Tywin, yes, but not to this extent! To sack an innocent city to prove his strength! What nonsense! I had anticipated that killing his son and humiliating him in such a manner would make Tywin do something rash that would be to our advantage militarily, but this is beyond my expectations! Perhaps I gave him too much credit after all!" he mused as he sat down.

"Well, not to be too callous, but I believe that this does work to our overall benefit," Quentyn continued after a moment's thought, as Oberyn paused, and then reluctantly agreed.

"So, what have we gained from this?" Oberyn asked as he handed over a cup of wine to his nephew, who took it gracefully.

"Once Robert learned of my overtures to Mace Tyrell via Leyton Hightower, I fully anticipated him to make a move to threaten Mace into rejecting any terms I might have offered, which he has done by sending that letter to Olenna Tyrell," he spoke, even as he carefully moved a pawn on a cyvasse board in front of him towards the opposing King.

"This, I knew," Quentyn continued, "Would not be received well by the Lords of the Reach. Due to my revealing the fallacy of their actions in deliberately losing their siege of Storm's End, they have by now realized that they themselves have converted a victory into defeat. As such, to be threatened in such a manner by a man who should have been defeated by them by all counts, will only dig the wound deeper. More so, when that letter is addressed to a woman and not them. That is an insult they will not be able to forgive," here, he smirked as he moved another pawn on the board forward.

"Contrasting that," he continued, "My request for Mace Tyrell was couched in as polite terms as was feasible, as opposed to the blunt threats of Robert Baratheon. Second, by insisting that I deal with Mace Tyrell personally, I have elevated his status, at least in his mind. He has, until now, despite being a Lord Paramount, never been treated as respectfully as his station deserves, partly due to the fact that his mother's actions have ruined his image in the eyes of the other Lord's Paramount. They usually dealt with him only because they had no choice. I am dealing with him because I want to. That will make all the difference in his mind, as he will see that I am perhaps the only ruler in Westeros who has treated him as a genuine equal," here he smiled, as he moved another pawn forward on the board.

"I am surprised that Hoster Tully allowed Robert to write such a threatening letter," Oberyn observed, as he refilled his wine cup. "I expected better from a man acclaimed as the greatest politician in Westeros."

"Ah, but you fail to take one thing into consideration," Quentyn smirked, "Being a politician is one thing, being a diplomat is entirely another. They are not always mutually exclusive. There is a reason why Jon Arryn is the one who deals with the other Kingdoms as their representative and not Hoster. Simply put, Hoster Tully is no less a prideful man than Tywin Lannister, though it is not well known. Hoster Tully is renowned for disparaging or humiliating people who he instinctively believes are lesser than him. One only needs to look at his behavior towards Walder Frey. Despite the fact that it was Walder Frey who saved the lives of Hoster and Arryn when Rhaegar crushed them during their battles in the Riverlands, to this day, Hoster still treats Walder with disdain. Hoster Tully has the bad habit of allowing his personal opinions to color his decisions, which is not wise in a ruler. In the same way, Hoster does not consider Mace Tyrell as a true Lord Paramount, and as such, I believe, did not caution Robert to the potential downfalls of such a thing. If Jon Arryn had been there, that threatening letter to Olenna Tyrell would never have been sent in the first place."

"And now," he smirked as he moved the final piece on the board to checkmate his opponent, "Due to my man assassinating Jaime Lannister, Tywin has gone berserk and has focused single-handedly on revenge. As such, he will do anything to force a battle between us, regardless of what Robert Baratheon wants. He will force the issue by attacking Bitterbridge, even if it means forcing the Tyrell's to our side. To reach Starpike, he has to go through Bitterbridge. And Tywin's actions at Bitterbridge will cement in the minds of Mace and his vassals that the Rebellion will never deal with them fairly, and that they cannot trust them. And so, we will gain the Reach and its resources without having to do a single thing to convince Mace Tyrell to join us," he concluded as Oberyn looked at the board only to see that it had been checkmated.

"In the end, Uncle," Quentyn paused, "My plan was fairly simple and straight-forward. Defeat the Tyrell's and then make a public showing of offering them terms. Ensure that this news reaches the Rebellion. And once it reached the Rebellion, they were guaranteed to threaten the Tyrell's from joining us. At that point, cause enough friction in the Rebellion by killing Jaime Lannister, and force Tywin into action against us, action that would conveniently force him to take a path through the Reach to get to us. And by predictably doing as we expected him to, Tywin has handed us an alliance with the Reach. An alliance with which we will crush him. He has the intelligence of a sardine, the poor fool," here he chuckled, while Oberyn laughed heartily.

"After all," Quentyn continued, "To achieve victory while having both friend and foe dance alike in your palms … that is what it means to be a great general," he smirked as he made a show of deliberately holding out the palm of his right hand.

"You, my dear nephew," Oberyn groused, partly in fondness and partly in exasperation, "are a most troublesome person to work with!"

"Fine by me!" his nephew replied, crossing his arms behind his head, and leisurely putting his legs on the table, "After all, I am not the one being troubled! Hahaha …"

* * *

 **Author's Note:**

I know, I had promised the interlude with the Reyne's next, but I reviewed that chapter and found that it needs a bit of rework. But it will be there, soon. Count on it. On the other hand, we are now on the road to the Battle of Bitterbridge, finally!


	19. The Road to Bitterbridge - Part 2

"My Lord, we are nearing Bitterbridge," Lord Andros Brax advised Tygett Lannister who was in the leading elements of the vanguard of the Lannister host which was nearing Bitterbridge. The host counted itself forty thousand strong all-in-all. It made for a very imposing sight.

"Shall we send forth a messenger to Lord Caswell, asking him to open the city gates for the army?" Lord Quenten Banefort asked his commander who remained stone-faced.

"No," Tygett replied after a moment's pause, "make ready the host, we assail the keep, now!"

All his commanders were taken aback, and looked at him askance as if wondering if he had lost his senses.

"Beg pardon, Ser Tygett," Lord Roland Crakehall interrupted with a cautious tone, "But King's orders were to occupy Bitterbridge, not assault it."

"And my brother's order is to take this town and burn it to a cinder," Tygett replied dispassionately, "After recent events, it is irrelevant what Robert Baratheon wants. We need to demonstrate our anger over the loss of my nephew, and warn those who would assist his killers, of the cost of associating with the enemies of House Lannister. Kill every man, woman and child in that city," he ordered as he moved ahead leaving a gaggle of worried commanders behind.

* * *

"What do you make of this?" a very worried Andros Brax asked his fellow Lords of the West, who all seemed very worried.

"Sacking Bitterbridge, a city which is under the impression that we are its allies and is welcoming us in with open arms would be a most egregious transgression!" Roland Crakehall bit out with venom in his eyes.

"Moreover, for Lord Tywin to order us to massacre women and children in such a manner again, so soon after sacking Kings Landing, is this not almost akin to the work of a monster?" Lord Brax asked after a moment while all became silent.

"This is not merely a matter of morality," spoke out Quenten Banefort, his face scrunched up in furious thought, "If we do this, we risk stepping on the tail of the wolf that was blessedly sleeping! The unmoving, unfathomable wolf of Winterfell! Eddard Stark may have tolerated our actions against Kings Landing out of sheer necessity for the deposing of House Targaryen, but he will not tolerate another such act by our forces, especially when we are now tied up with the Rebellion. Our actions will reflect upon him as well, and this is one action, he most assuredly will not tolerate. We risk making the architect of the Rebellion's victory into our enemy by such actions," the Lord of Banefort finished while most of the Lords of the West flinched at the reminder of Eddard Stark and what he was capable of.

"Not Just Eddard Stark and Robert Baratheon, who is our King, and whom we are flagrantly disobeying, but we will be making enemies of Mace Tyrell and Randyll Tarly as well," Lord Brax spoke out softly, while his fellow lords became even more despondent.

"Above all else, the Westerlands can ill-afford to make enemies of the calibre of Eddard Stark and Robert Baratheon! We are already in a blood-feud with Quentyn Martell which is most likely to last till the ends of time. We cannot add two more generals of his calibre to that list, the West cannot survive against a single enemy of that calibre let alone three!" Lord Crakehall bit out, while the others became silent.

"My Lords," spoke out another voice which had remained silent till that time. It was Lord Philip Plumm, one of the oldest Lords present, and the man who had aided Tywin in the suppression of House Reyne during the Rebellion of Castamere.

"All that we discuss are fair words, but," he paused and smiled ruefully. "That is all they are, words. Unless you have the strength to disobey Tywin Lannister and escape unscathed, you can only talk, but do any of you dare disobey his orders?"

His words turned the mood of the present men, nearly fatalistic.

"What in the world is Lord Tywin, thinking?" Lord Brax bit out, while the others began to mutter vicious curses under their breath.

"He is not," was the curt reply from Lord Plumm, "I have been with Tywin since the beginning of his reign. I was there when Roger Reyne humiliated Tytos Lannister and forced Tygett to be his squire, and when Ellyn Tarbeck dared to make herself greater than Joanna Lannister herself. The humiliation he endured, the insults he was forced to bear as a child was unimaginable. It made him lose all sense of empathy for others and for himself, and the Rains of Castamere was the result. Tywin will not suffer House Reyne to re-emerge, no matter the cost to himself or his house. He will raze the world to ashes before he yields, and as his bannermen we are forced to go along with him. For all these years, we have enjoyed the prosperity he has brought us, now it is time for us to pay the price for that prosperity. After all he has done for us, are we to now abandon him at his most dire time of need? His actions may be unpalatable to many, but no one can deny its effectiveness. If every man were to stop and think how his actions would be perceived by others, then the world come to a halt. We commit these atrocities, knowing and accepting that they may be visited on us or our loved one's anytime. That is the price we pay for living in this cursed world. For the sake of the Westerlands, if it is to survive in this dangerous world, I at least am willing to walk on this path of carnage, uncaring of the world and its opinions," the old lord finished with a smile, and he urged his horse forward.

After a moment of commiseration, the other lords steeled their resolve and followed.

* * *

Two hours later, Tygett Lannister stood in front of the gates of Bitterbridge, with all his commanders standing with him, and the whole host standing two hundred yards behind.

Soon, the gates of Bitterbridge opened, and Lord Caswell, the Lord of Bitterbridge rode forth with a few of his guards. Unaware of the fate about to befall his home, the Lord of Bitterbridge came forward and stood in front of Tygett.

"Ser Tygett, greetings," the man replied with a cheerful smile. "The hospitality of Bitterbridge is yours," he replied with a beaming look on his face, while Tygett remained gaunt and unflappable.

"I have no need of Bitterbridge's greetings, Lord Caswell," he replied with a soft tone, "What I need, is its death," he finished with a whisper.

"Wha …" before he could even react, Lord Caswell was beheaded by Tygett with a furious swipe of his sword, and his body fell listlessly from the horse. As his guards shouted in alarm, and reached for their weapons, they were all set upon by Tygett's men, who butchered them all on the spot.

"Go, take the city," Tygett ordered Lord Brax, who gave a curt nod, and raised a bugle and gave three ringing blasts.

* * *

Inside the city, panic was settling amongst the citizens. The guards on the wall had observed with horror as their Lord who had gone out to welcome their guests was brutally slaughtered. That horror turned into outright terror once the Lannister Army began to advance upon the city. Hurried orders were given to close the city gates, and the garrison of the city sortied itself to defend themselves from the coming onslaught. However, with no central leadership, each group attempted to deal with the oncoming attack in its own manner, which cost them precious time.

In the streets, criers were running around, warning citizens to flee.

" **WAR! THE LANNISTER'S ARE COMING!"**

" **THE OLD LION IS MAD WITH GRIEF OVER LOSING HIS SON! HE IS GOING TO SLAUGHTER US ALL!"**

" **FLEE FOR YOUR LIVES!"**

" **THE LANNISTER'S WILL KILL US ALL! GET THE WOMEN AND CHILDREN OUT OF HERE! ALL ABLE-BODIED MEN TO PICK UP ARMS!"**

" **LORD CASWELL HAS BEEN MURDERED!"**

Such scenes were seen all over the city, with different iterations, but the underlying theme was the same. They had to fight, or they would all die under the boots of the cursed Lannister's. There was no other alternative.

And so, under such chaotic scenes began the Razing of Bitterbridge.

* * *

 _As the sun sets over the cities, the sky is tinged red as if it is on fire. However, it is not visible as the sky has literally been blanketed by carrion birds of all type. Crows, Ravens, Vultures and many such birds numbering in thousands if not, tens of thousands._

 _All these birds are flying over the ruins of what used to be Bitterbridge. Everywhere one turns their eyes, one can see piles of corpses thrown atop one another. Each pile made of a thousand corpses at least. The sky is rife with the screams of the wounded, and the dying. There is another more horrible sound, of the few unlucky women who were cursed enough to live through the slaughter and now find themselves the playthings of the Lannister soldiers. Death would have been a preferable alternative. Far more preferable for those poor women._

 _Before the battle, Bitterbridge boasted of a population of fifty thousand people. It was one of the more prosperous towns in the Reach, and this prosperity was reflected by the amount of people who resided in it. Of the fifty thousand people, less than two hundred remain alive. **Two hundred out of fifty thousand.**_ _The Stranger will have more souls than he can feast upon today._

 _But there is one thing that I must note, of the men of Bitterbridge who fell in battle in their futile attempt to defend their home. All of them lie dead on the ground face up directed towards the Lannister Army. There's not a single one that tried to flee._

 _Today the Lannister's of the West have etched their names in the lists of the greatest tyrants of all time. I know not where they rank, but if Tywin Lannister keeps on carrying in this vein, he will soon find himself atop the list._

 _As I see this massacre, I am reminded of an old saying. When a Lord asks for something, an overeager vassal will do everything in his power to accomplish it, to rise further in his lord's esteem. If the Lord asks for a demonstration of his power, then that vassal will carry out a massacre to prove his worth. But it does not occur to either of them to ask these two questions. What is the price of power? What is the value of life?_

 _These are the last words of Maester Willard, the maester of castle Bitterbridge, and the chronicler of the fall of Bitterbridge. I send these words out via raven so that the world may know what has occurred here, even if we, its people should fall._

* * *

In the end, this letter would remain the sole account of what had occurred in Bitterbridge, as the men, women, and children of the city were massacred to the last soul.

At another part of city, a different scene could have been observed.

" _Lord Tygett, we have killed everyone in this part!"_

" _Please … we beg of you, end it!"_

" _ **How many? How many people have we killed?"**_

" _We … we guess about forty thousand people."_

" _ **Not adequate. My brother's orders were for the absolute destruction of this city. Kill every living soul in this city who does not belong to the west."**_

* * *

By nightfall, there was not a soul left in Bitterbridge who was native to it. That night, in his command tent, Tygett Lannister called for a meeting of all his commanders.

"What purpose did this massacre serve, Lord Tygett?" asked Lord Crakehall who was quite plainly furious at what he had been forced to undertake with his men.

"Aye, we have now become sinners in the eyes of the world! It will take generations for this taint to wash away from our names, our houses and our children! We are now damned for ever!" bit out Lord Banefort, in a similarly agitated tone.

"Simply put, My Lords, it is a tactic of war," Tygett replied calmly, as his men looked at him with jaws open in shock.

"Have all the granaries of the city been seized?" he asked Andros Brax, who nodded curtly in agreement. The mood of the Lords was rather mutinous, as their actions during the day appeared to weigh heavily on their soul.

"Good, now send a message to all the Lords of the Reach, warning them that helping Dorne will invite the wrath of the Rebellion, and more specifically Tywin Lannister," Tygett continued, while opening a roll of parchment and began to write upon it.

"Do not be so concerned, My Lords," Tygett continued, "What we did here is one of the darker tactics of war. We have massacred one city to frighten ten more into submission. As horrible and as immoral as it is, the tactic will work with proper application."

"How?" asked Lord Brax with a strangled whisper as he looked at his commander with his facial expressions a mixture between horror and awe.

"Pull out a thousand of our men from the ranks," Tygett ordered. "Have them disguise themselves as civilians, and spread them out throughout the Reach. They must spread the news that we have killed a hundred thousand civilians without hesitation!"

" **WHAT!"**

" **BUT WE HAVE KILLED ONLY FIFTY THOUSAND OR SO!"**

" _Hmm … considering the size and the population of the Reach, it is too less. Make it two hundred thousand instead."_

"Lord Tygett, this will make us sinners in the eyes of the world! Please reconsider," Lord Banefort spoke out in agitation, while the other lords also began to protest.

" _Why not make it three hundred thousand?"_ Lord Plumm asked quietly from a corner, as everyone became silent in shock at the blatant nature of the question.

" **Plumm! Are you insane! Do you want us to be even more reviled than we already are?"**

" _I agree,_ " Tygett smiled quietly, _"The Reach has a population of 25 million. It would barely make a dent if we kill just fifty thousand. Three hundred thousand seems more terrifying does it not?"_ he chuckled, even as he continued, "My Lords, the point of this exercise is to terrify the populace of the Reach to such an extent that Mace Tyrell will be forced to abandon any plans of rapprochement with the Martell's. So much so, that once the news of this massacre spreads, the populace themselves will force their Lords to remain loyal to the Iron Throne out of fear of this act happening to them and their loved ones. Even if Mace Tyrell wishes to ally with the Martell's, the fear of this massacre and the possibility of it reoccurring will force his small folk to prevail upon Mace to abandon any such plans. If we are lucky, it will even force them into outright rebellion which will also work to our advantage."

"You really think this will work?" Roland Crakehall asked in a curious tone as he sat at the table, while his fellow lords followed suit, with their indignation giving way to an awkward curiosity.

"The King appealed to the greed of the Tyrell's in order to keep their loyalty," Tygett replied back as he began to dig into his meal with relish. "What the small council failed to understand was that after the battle of Starpike, the men of the Reach will be under tremendous strain to prove their worth. A defeat of that magnitude will hurt the pride of any warrior. Under such a situation, offering enticements or mere threats are like rubbing salt on wounds. The King's offer as well as threats would have inflamed their passions and they would object to it on principle," Tygett explained, while his men gave guarded nods of acceptance.

"So … what have we gained from this act, exactly?" asked Lord Westerling, who seemed very perplexed as though he could not make out the underlying point.

"At the very least, we have put a serious obstacle into the path of an alliance between the Reach and Dorne," Tygett continued. "Our act at Bitterbridge has given us one advantage. We are not burdened with the responsibility of looking after the populace of an occupied city. And with the food stores of the city in our grasp, we are now well provisioned to withstand a siege comfortably even with forty thousand troops. If the boy from Dorne wishes to make an alliance with the Reach, then Mace Tyrell will demand the boy to prove his sincerity by liberating this city from our grasp. Mace Tyrell will want to make sure that Dorne has the capability to protect the Reach from any reprisals from the Iron Throne. However, that is impossible. Because, to besiege a city, an assaulting army will need men three times the amount of the defenders. In essence, Quentyn Martell will need at least 120,000 soldiers, which without the aid of the Reach is impossible to achieve. Even if he besieges us, the siege will destroy itself from within. This besiegement will give Robert Baratheon enough time to reassemble the full might of the Rebellion and he will descend upon the Martell's from the other side. Caught between the might of the Rebellion to his back and our army in front of him, Quentyn Martell will be destroyed."

"If you cannot have the love of the people, then be satisfied with their fear instead. Tywin has always operated on this principle. **Always** ," Philip Plumm replied after a moment's contemplation to which Tygett nodded.

"I may not always see eye-to-eye with my brother, but the re-emergence of House Reyne is the one thing that even I will not tolerate. For that purpose alone, even if it chafes me, I will obey my orders from Tywin without complaint if needs be. Besides, after a long time, I have met what appears to be a promising enemy. I will take the measure of Quentyn Martell in this battle, and prove to the world, that be it wolves, stags, falcons, snakes or any others, it is the Lion's that are the true kings of the wild."

* * *

Unknown to them all, the raven containing the now dead Maester Willard's account of the slaughter of Bitterbridge was making its way to Oldtown towards the citadel. That letter would prove to be the catalyst in deciding the fortunes of the civil war of Westeros.

* * *

Author's note:

Things are picking up steam. Few more chapters to go before the battle.


	20. Interlude: Wounded Lion

The man rapidly made his way towards the chamber of Tywin when he saw two guards stand in front of him barring his way by crossing their pikes.

Indignation filled his face as he glared at them in anger, "Move, or be moved!"

The guards flinched but held their ground. The man's hand fell on to the hilt of his blade. "I do not wish to argue with you men, but if you do not move, you will not return alive to the west to your loved ones. Decide now!"

After a moment's hesitation the two guards moved back, and with a derisive scoff, the man pushed open the doors and entered.

Inside, Tywin Lannister looked up from the pile of messages and reports he was going through and for a second, he glared at the intruder. After a moment, he turned to his aide and ordered curtly, "Leave us!"

"What have you done?!" the intruder asked in an anguish filled tone as he looked at Tywin who seemed to be carved out of granite.

"I thought you would have left on your journey to Valyria by now, Gerion," Tywin addressed his youngest brother, who stiffened.

"Do not evade the question, brother! What have you done?"

"Careful of your tone, Gerion. There are many things I permit my brothers to do, but to question me so is not amongst them."

As he looked at the expression on his youngest brother's face, Tywin scoffed and sat down on his chair.

"So, I have displeased you," the Lord of Casterly Rock observed, "Your face tells everything. You always were a yellow-livered bitch. You lack the will to make the hard decisions," he scoffed while Gerion reddened with rage.

"Did it never occur to you, little brother, while searching through ship-wrecks in the Essossi sea, that I would have no choice but to respond when my son was killed so blatantly? When our greatest enemies rise back from the grave and threaten everything that we have done and accomplished so far?"

"You speak as if you have ever allowed anyone else to have a say in how House Lannister is run!" spat back Gerion with his jowls quivering in rage.

"No, I have not, because I know you are not capable of it. Because if such a situation had come to you, you would have been unable to distend your precious virgin sacs and shoulder the burden for the bloody outcome. Say it! Speak!"

Gerion Lannister fidgeted for a second, before he looked at his eldest brother square in the eye, "I never thought you would stoop low enough to massacre innocent men, women and children in their thousands!"

"And by doing so, I have ensured that our enemies in Dorne will be isolated! No one will dare ally with them for the fear of what I will do will resonate deep in their hearts!"

"Oh, come on, don't be so naïve, Gerion," Tywin scoffed even as he sorted out the papers on his desk, "I choose my own way of life. If you would have been given the option, you certainly would have chosen a different father, would you not? The lies we tell ourselves at night, we do so as not to feel in our souls like the shit of pigs. I would never have said this before of our father, but I owe him a debt of gratitude," he concluded while Gerion's eyes went wide in shock.

"Yes," Tywin continued, "He was a pig shit and he knew it. He was honest in what he was and did not try to hide it. He always used to say 'better to conquer hearts than walls' and look where it got him. Everyone abused his good will and generosity, and he, deliberately allowed them to exploit his goodwill. He believed that in war times or peace, a leader could never come out on top. He was a born pessimist. Everyone thinks I crave this, the yoke of command … burden of responsibility. I took it upon myself because neither Kevan, or you can do the hard thing. Not even Tygett, despite what he has done at Bitterbridge. The necessary thing. And you know, why? Because all of you lack the strength of heart and mind to bear the consequence. You don't wish to bear the consequence of what was done at Bitterbridge, and you don't have to because you have me to blame, to indict. The Tyrell's will not dare to join with the Martell's after my warning. For if they do, Tygett has orders to keep on repeating what he has done in Bitterbridge to other cities in the Reach, as many times as it takes for the message to sink in even Mace Tyrell's bloated head."

"Do not try to justify your lust for blood with sheer sophistry, brother!" Gerion snapped back, "You may believe you were justified in ordering this senseless act of depravity, but by doing so, you have tainted the name of House Lannister for all time! Did it not occur to you that by doing what you have done, you have forced the Tyrell's to make cause with Dorne! And what do you think Robert Baratheon will do, especially when you have brazenly flouted his orders and conducted this vile act?"

"Mace Tyrell, a worthless fool who only ascended to his post by virtue of birth, and Quentyn Martell, a young upstart with no real achievements! A coward who strikes from the shadows. When a witless fool joins forces with a gutless coward, what can they accomplish?" Tywin derisively snorted while Gerion grimaced for a moment at his elder brother's pig headedness.

"Sometimes, I feel like I am the only sane man in our family. Does your arrogance know no bounds? Do you honestly believe that all other men apart from you are idiots? That you can always prevail? History is rife with examples of men such as you whose hubris wrought their end! If Quentyn Martell is an upstart with no achievements then what do you consider the battle of Starpike as?"

"An ill-conceived attempt by Mace Tyrell to flaunt his strength, which resulted in a predictable outcome. Leyton Hightower was outnumbered by a factor of eight to one. There was no chance for him to win that battle at all," Tywin scoffed in disgust while Gerion was taken aback.

"Outnumbered? Have the reverses you have suffered addled your wits brother? Both armies were evenly matched!"

"As usual, you lose sight of the big picture," Tywin admonished his youngest brother, "I am not talking about numbers. I am talking about the quality of the men involved. The Reach's main army is under the command of Randyll Tarly and is guarding the Shield Islands. The levy that Hightower commanded was made up of hastily summoned small folk. Farmer's, stable boy's, cobblers and other such riff raff. Of the forty thousand that Hightower commanded, only five thousand could have been reasonably been counted as real soldiers. And against them, the boy had forty thousand true soldiers to wield! Is it any surprising to know that they failed? It was the obvious outcome. Everyone is so terrified of the amount of dead that they have failed to discern the finer points of this battle."

Taking deep breaths, Gerion Lannister forced himself to calm down. "Very well, but that still does not account for how you will deal with Robert Baratheon?"

"How?" Tywin smiled, "Because I am the only true ally he has left," he concluded while Gerion simply sighed and slapped his forehead with the palm of his right hand.

"Just when I thought you were beginning to make some sense, you again spout off nonsense! He has the Starks, Arryn's and Tully's on his side, brother! We are the one's who came late to his side. What makes you think he will consider you as a closer ally than the original founders of the Rebellion?"

"Because he has nothing to tie him to them anymore," Tywin spoke with a tone that was decisively final. "Think Gerion, the Rebellion was founded and sealed through matrimonial bonds! Hoster Tully married his two daughters to Arryn and Stark, while Baratheon was to marry Stark's sister! That Northern chit is dead! What does Robert have to tie him to them anymore? Friendship! Bah! A king has no friends, he needs no friends. You talk of their loyalty. Where is Arryn? Why have we not yet heard from him? Where is Stark? He too is missing! He should be here planning the invasion of Dorne to avenge the murder of his sister by Arthur Dayne! The strategist who outfought Rhaegar Targaryen himself, and he too is silent even after his sister was murdered by Rhaegar's best friend! Only Hoster Tully remains maintaining a token presence here! The Rebellion is splintering Gerion! Without Lyanna Stark, they have no purpose!" Tywin concluded with a cruel look adorning his face.

"You ask why Robert will not dispose of me? It is because deep in his heart he too knows that his bond with his fellow leader's is fraying, though he does not wish to admit it! He needs me, Gerion, just as I need him. He needs my resources and the wealth I offer, while I need his skills in warfare to crush the cursed house of Martell and wipe them off for good!"

"Fine, I will leave you to this madness," Gerion sighed, as he got up and began to leave.

"And where are you going? I have not yet given you permission to leave!" Tywin looked at his brother with a cold gaze.

Unflinchingly, Gerion turned back, "Home! In case you have forgotten, the Ironborn still threaten our shores! There needs to be a Lannister in Casterly Rock to defend it! In your zeal to crush Dorne, you seem to have forgotten that your bannermen are worried about the fate of their homes. Sooner or later, you will have a mutiny if you do not take steps to assuage their worries. Push them too far, and even your fearsome reputation will not be enough to quell their unease. My presence at Casterly Rock will assuage them that you are taking steps to safeguard the West."

"Mutiny?" Tywin scoffed, "They would not dare. You worry too much, Gerion!"

"Is that what you said to yourself when your cupbearer helped Barristan Selmy escape?" and with that parting shot, Gerion Lannister left his brother's presence, and made his way out leaving a fuming elder brother in his wake.

* * *

 **Author's note:**

A bit shorter than what I wanted. But real life does not care about that! Well, we are closer to the battle. 1 more interlude and 2 chapters to go.


	21. The Road to Bitterbridge - Part 3

**Courtyard of the Red Keep, the day after the massacre of Bitterbridge**

" _They say they razed Bitterbridge and slaughtered every last soul!"_

" _What a despicable man that Tywin Lannister is!"_

" _Are we safe here in this city?"_

As he walked through the courtyard to meet with Robert Baratheon, Hoster Tully could not help but overhear the discussion of the small folk servants littered throughout the castle. Each time he heard the servants discuss the matter, his mind grew more turbulent.

 _Rumours are running rampant. This will not end well once word reaches Mace Tyrell's ears. If he joins up with Quentyn Martell and the Ironborn, they will become a frighteningly powerful alliance with the power to divide Westeros itself in two halves. Mace holds the next crucial move. What will he do?"_

As he reached the chambers of the new king, the guards stood rigidly outside, perspiring even in the cool weather of the morning. A moment later, he realized why as he could hear the sound of the new king in now one of his infamous tantrums. Sighing, he entered the chamber and found Grand Maester Pycelle and Varys standing at one side, looking rather downcast, while Lord Lyn Corbray, the commander of the Vale looked incensed. Greatjon Umber, the commander of the Northern army also looked troubled. Conspicuous by his absence was Tywin Lannister. Robert Baratheon was in a corner ranting and raving in anger, muttering curses which were frankly unspeakable.

"Something I missed?" Hoster asked glibly as he made his way into the room. At his voice, Varys noticeably perked up while Pycelle gave a sigh of relief.

"My Lord Hand, we have received new information which has placed all of us in a quandary," Varys replied facilely while Hoster arched an eyebrow in surprise.

"Anything that can make you ignore Tywin's indiscretions must be of great import indeed!" Hoster chuckled allowing himself a brief moment of levity. Sobering himself quickly, he turned towards the eunuch.

"What is it?"

"The Dornish have taken Lord Arryn captive, and have set their own terms of peace, which are totally different from the one's that we had sent earlier," Varys replied simplistically while Hoster's jaws dropped, literally.

"That explains a lot, actually," Hoster replied after getting himself under control only through supreme effort. "How did we come to know of this?"

"Lord Royce," Lyn Corbray spoke out, "was permitted to leave Dorne, but Myriah Martell denied him the use of any ravens from Sunspear or that of any of the keeps in Dorne to send us a message! Lord Royce was forced to ride to Plankytown non-stop for nearly three days and then take a ship from there and sail to the nearest friendly keep, which was in the Crownlands. He could not take the risk of sailing to the Reach, as their water's are still infested with Ironborn. All in all, it took eleven days for him to reach a friendly keep and make use of their ravens, and then another three days for the ravens to reach here. All in all, it took two weeks for us to learn of this!" the Vale lord was quite agitated, and rightfully so. This was not good news. Not at all.

"Did they break guest right?" Hoster asked after contemplating the news he heard in silence for a few minutes.

"No, Lord Royce was emphatic on that point," Pycelle replied quietly from the corner. "The Dornish under the command of Lord Yronwood made it clear to Lord Arryn apparently. If Lord Arryn wished to meet with Myriah Martell, then he would have to forego guest rights, and the later consequences would be solely upon his head. Lord Arryn foolishly agreed, and now we are in dire straits," Lyn Corbray interrupted angrily, while Hoster acknowledged it with a frown.

"What are their terms?" Hoster asked a moment later, bracing himself for the worst.

He was not disappointed.

"Dorne has refused to bend to the Iron Throne now and forevermore," Varys replied matter-of-factly, "They have declared independence from the Iron Throne and their terms for peace and just peace, not fealty, are the heads of Amory Lorch and Gregor Clegane," the eunuch concluded while Hoster's eyebrows arched high into his forehead as a bead of sweat rolled down his face.

"And their responses for our demands of fealty?" Hoster asked, almost afraid to hear the answer.

" _Nothing less than the head of Tywin Lannister himself_ ," grunted Pycelle, who seemed very disheartened.

"Well, their demands are few and simple. Unfortunately, in life, it is the simple things which are hardest to achieve," Hoster smiled wanly.

"This is no time for japes, Lord Tully," Varys chided gently, while Hoster chuckled, "On the contrary Varys, I have never been more serious in my life," the Lord Paramount of the Riverlands spoke out.

"For the first time in my life, I have encountered a person who can match wits with me in my chosen arena, Politics, and I find it rather exhilarating," the Lord of Riverlands mused.

"We are now in a civil war, my friends," the acting hand continued, "The Dornish never had any intention of entering into talks ever! This pretence of allowing Jon Arryn to decline guest right and absolve themselves of any blame is just a charade. They always intended to capture him regardless! Who would care about words when all is said and done? In the end, it is the victors who define history, and if the Dornish win this war, nobody will care that they violated guest right and captured a visiting Lord Paramount who came to them in good faith. This, is a clear intention of their resolve. They intend to see this to the bitter end!" he laughed mirthlessly, while the others considered his words.

"This does place us in a bitter quandary," Varys continued, "The Dornish have threatened to execute Lord Arryn, if the Army of the Vale moves towards Dorne with the forces of the Rebellion!" Varys concluded, while Hoster became stone-faced.

"It concerns me as well, this is something unprecedented," Pycelle admitted, while Hoster considered the implications.

"Would they actually kill Lord Arryn, if it came to that?" Lyn Corbray asked hesitantly, as everyone stilled.

"No, they will not," Hoster spoke with absolute confidence after a few minutes of silence, "Know this, my friends, Kingdoms must be able to trust the words of one another, or else, no association at all is possible. We must remember that this state of war is not perpetual and sooner or later, there will be an 'after the war', in which all participants in the war must be able to re-establish normal relations with the rest of the world. If the Dornish act without care of consequences, no one will trust them later to uphold any bargains they make. There is a reason why diplomats are almost universally untouchable. They are the very blood veins who make interactions with the world surrounding us possible. If the Dornish kill Lord Arryn, then the world will regard them as outlaw, which will make it difficult for them. Quentyn Martell will not take that risk."

"And if he does?" Greatjon Umber asked from the corner, while Hoster became silent, "The only way for Quentyn Martell to remain unscathed and ensure that Dorne does not become an exiled nation if they kill Lord Arryn is to demonstrate that he is too powerful to care about the repercussions. Only if he is in an unassailable level of strength, militarily, can he afford to disregard the consequences of killing Jon Arryn. The question then remains, **is he that capable a general to withstand everything the world throws at him and emerge victorious?** "

"We will find that out," Robert Baratheon grunted from the corner, after hearing all the discussions from the side lines. He seemed to have calmed down after venting out his frustrations for a good fifteen minutes in the corner of the room.

"As much as I want to rip off Tywin's head from his body by my bare hands, I cannot do it now, lest I risk the West going the same way as the Dornish. If we are to even remotely have a chance of holding Westeros together, as unpalatable as it is, we need the old bastard and his men, **for now** ," the King admitted harshly, while everyone became silent.

"For now, militarily, the situation at Bitterbridge is at a stalemate," Robert pointed out. "Tygett and his men hold the city and without a population to pacify, they are free to focus their attention completely on the Reach. If Mace Tyrell decides to avenge Bitterbridge, then he will be in an unenviable position. If he moves to retake Bitterbridge, he leaves his flank wide open, and that is something we will capitalize on. If he seeks an alliance with the Dornish, then he will demand the Martell to bring Tygett to heel, which will again work to our advantage. With his numbers, Quentyn cannot break the siege on Bitterbridge and take the city. He needs Mace and his men. If the Reach and Dorne invest themselves in a siege on Bitterbridge, then a surprise assault on their flanks from our combined might will break them for good. As far as it goes, it is not a bad plan," Robert admitted.

"Lord Stark suggests the same, Your Grace," Greatjon Umber added, to which everyone whirled around in surprise.

"You have heard from Ned? Where is he?" the King asked in surprise, while the others too looked upon the commander of the Northern Army eagerly.

"Forgive me, Your Grace, I intended to inform you after this meeting, but your plans for the battle compel me to speak earlier. Lord Stark is well; however, he is now travelling with a reduced retinue, and is preparing to send the Lady Lyanna's bones to Winterfell. They are currently making their way to Tarth, in the Stormlands, and once his sister's remains are seen to, he states that he shall return," the Lord of Last Hearth concluded, while Robert became stone-faced.

"And what does Lord Stark advise, my good Lord Umber?" Varys asked with a tiny bit of apprehension. This was the first time that they had heard from Eddard Stark, after he had left to search for his sister. From then on, despite his most strenuous efforts, even the eunuch had not been able to discern the movements of the Lord of Winterfell.

"Lord Stark has some orders for the Army of the Coalition," Umber continued, after giving a nod to Varys, "He asks us to send 1,000 soldiers from each of the five Kingdom's armies that comprise of the Rebellion and asks them to make their way to Bitterbridge. He asks us to send them in batches, a thousand soldiers a day from each of the five Kingdoms and they are to make their way unobtrusively to the city of Bitterbridge, and are to take positions in the marshlands that are near Bitterbridge and are to make no effort to relieve the siege, until the full might of the Rebellion is assembled in the south," he concluded while the others considered the message.

"Just a thousand men a day? That is too little manpower to do anything! We will waste a lot of time! Why not move the whole Army at once?" Varys exclaimed while Robert tried to understand his best friend's motives and then laughed uproariously.

"Ha-ha … Good old Ned, as usual, he has come up with a brilliant solution to our issues," the King spoke in a cheerful tone, while the others looked perplexed.

"To send the tens of thousands of troops that make up our forces down the Mander to reach Bitterbridge would take numerous days. Especially doing it in such a manner without anyone catching on," the King explained while looks of comprehension dawned upon the faces of everyone else.

"But … won't the enemy notice that we are down by nearly five thousand men each day, as the time goes on?" Pycelle stuttered in surprise, while the others seemed too shocked to speak.

"As if they would," Robert snorted, "You need to remember that we have always possessed a numerical advantage over our enemies. A 120,000 men against the 40,000 of the Dornish. Twice your number is about the limit a man can sense with intuition alone. And if we simply increase the number of flags and tents in our formations, there is no way a spy can notice any difference in strengths. By keeping up these false pretences, we can send up to 40,000 men to Bitterbridge and still have the spies of the enemies believe that our full strength is intact," the King finished explaining to the awe-struck members of the small council.

"But … but … for that to happen, does it mean that Lord Stark foresaw the possibility that we would have to potentially wage war with the Reach and Dorne long before it became a reality?" Pycelle asked flabbergasted at the implications of such words.

"That is not it," Robert smirked, "When we made our way to Kings Landing, after Tywin's sack and to take charge, Ned took it upon himself to place the Armies of the Rebellion around the city. During that time, he positioned the armies in such a way that they border the part of the Kingswood forests that fall between the Crownlands and the Stormlands. At that time, I thought he was being more conservative and wanted the troops to rest, as Mace had sent word of his intention to surrender and there was no risk of immediate battle with the Reach. I was wrong! He chose that place because it is ideal to sneak men into the Reach and the South without anyone noticing. Ned devised a contingency plan for the worst scenario before we even realized that we may have to fight the Reach and Dorne! Everything he does has a purpose behind it!" he finished, while looks of shock and awe appeared on the faces of everyone as they understood the strategy of the Lord of Winterfell.

"But this does leave the Lannister Army in Bitterbridge exposed, My Lord," Lyn Corbray pointed out.

"A necessary sacrifice," Robert muttered coldly, "Tygett and his men will have to weather the combined assault of the Reach and Dorne until we come to relieve him. He will suffer horrendous casualties, but he will live. Besides, this will be a good way to curb the belligerence of the West. With his forces much reduced, Tywin will not dare to act precipitously again. Those 40,000 Lannister men will serve as excellent bait to keep Quentyn Martell's attention fixed upon them, and leave him blind to everything else."

"But what if he breaks the siege prematurely before our forces are in position, Your Grace?" Varys asked quietly, to which Robert scoffed.

"To break a city held by 40,000 battle hardened men prematurely is impossible Varys, the tools of war do not permit such a thing. As capable as he is, even Quentyn Martell is bound by the limitations that waging a war of this scale will bring. There is no way he can break Bitterbridge before our arrival. It is not possible, unless he has living dragons on his side to burn them out," Robert chuckled before continuing, "It will take any army at least 21 days to break a siege of this strength. This gives us plenty of time to go to Bitterbridge and crush the boy-prince of Dorne," the King finished confidently as he stood up indicating that this particular meeting was over.

However, Robert Baratheon was wrong on one thing. It would not take 21 days for Quentyn Martell to break Bitterbridge.

 **It would take him just seven days**.

* * *

 **Author's note:**

One more chapter to go, and then the battle starts.


	22. Shadows in the Dark

**Undisclosed location, Braavos,**

In a cavern, deep underground the city of Braavos, a gathering of six individuals met together. All of them were wearing deep, voluminous cloaks with hoods which masked their physical appearance completely. None of them could see the faces of the others which was the reason for this particular arrangement. The only thing that differentiated each of them was the fact that they were all wearing golden medallions around their necks hanging on a chain of silver. If one could put in the effort, they could see that each of the medallions carried an emblem of one of the free cities upon them. Braavos, Lorath, Norvos, Qohor, Myr & Tyrosh. Six of the nine free cities of Essos were represented here in the gathering. The representative for Braavos took his place at the head of the table, while the others took their respective places on either side of the table accordingly.

"It has been an exciting year and a half hasn't it?" the representative for Norvos broke the ice as he addressed everyone, to which stifled grumbles emanated from his colleagues while their leader from Braavos maintained a stony silence.

"It's been all kinds of fun, I must admit," the representative for Myr spoke out, the voice clearly identifying its owner as a female by the tenor of the tone. However, by looking at the robes that she wore, it would be impossible for anyone to guess that it was a woman in the first place. In fact, she was the only woman in the council.

"Fun? I do not think that the possibility of our great plan failing at its very threshold of success is fun by any means! Do you have any idea of the potential trouble we may face?" the representative of Qohor burst out angrily, while the Norvosi and Myrian became silent.

"I agree!" the representative for Tyrosh nodded in agreement, "The boy-prince from Dorne is proving to be an extremely irritating thorn in our path!"

Their leader raised his right hand and everybody became silent. Acknowledging the silence, their leader spoke out. _"Varys, has sent his report to us."_

"Oh, and what does the eunuch say?" the Tyroshi representative asked as everybody leaned forward to hear the answer.

"He believes that Robert Baratheon will potentially lose to the boy-prince of Dorne. With the death of Lyanna Stark, the ties that bind him to his core followers are rapidly fraying, and his unfettered indulgence in acts of revenge against the followers of the Targaryen's are rapidly eroding the popularity that his exploits in the battlefield have gained him."

"Hmm, there is truth in what you say," the representative from Qohor spoke out for the first time. "His excesses were usually curbed and tempered by the presence of Jon Arryn, but with his capture by the Dornish, there is no restraining influence upon Baratheon anymore. Whether it was pre-planned or an act of coincidence, and I believe it is the latter, Robert Baratheon's failings are rapidly becoming public. We had hoped that by the time his vices became public, he would have been firmly seated on the throne. But now, it is working against us."

" _At any rate, the plan of this council to weaken and impoverish Westeros so that the incoming dynasty may pose no threat to the interests of Essos is now in jeopardy, as we can now no longer be certain that it will be a Baratheon dynasty on the throne. We may very well be looking at a Martell dynasty in charge of Westeros, which will bode ill for us_ ," the representative for Lorath grunted in anger while everybody else became silent.

" _The aims of this council are sacrosanct,_ " their Braavosi leader spoke out. " _From the times since Valyria fell, this council has strived to ensure that no single civilization, dynasty, or family grows powerful enough to impose its will upon the rest of humanity ever again. There is a reason why the free cities remain free, it is because we have ensured it to be so. Whenever there arose a family with enough power or capabilities to install a ruling dynasty upon one of the free cities, this council has culled it to oblivion. We have taken great efforts to bring down House Targaryen, the last remnant of Valyria, and the one house which still had strength to impose its will upon the world. Our great enemies, Volantis, Pentos and Lys, the traitors who still cling to the ideals of the Valyrian empire have now lost their last great hope, and we must ensure that they do not gain a new one._ "

* * *

There was truth in what he had said. For four centuries since the downfall of Valyria, there had existed a deep cold war between Volantis, Pentos, Lys and the rest of the free cities. Upon the fall of Valyria, Volantis, the so called first daughter of Valyria, had sought to impose itself as a replacement for the Valyrian empire and had sought to continue the imposition of Valyrian ideology upon the rest of the world. However, it had been rebuffed, with extreme violence. Braavos, the bastard daughter as it was known, had despised the traditions and customs of Valyria to the point of fanatic zealotry and had risen up in rebellion. With the loss of Valyria and its dragons, Braavos had risen in open revolt, and had rallied other free cities with similar beliefs to its banner. For nearly forty years after the doom, the wars had been extremely brutal and fierce with no victory on either side. However, the combined might of the six cities was powerful enough to ensure their independence, but not enough to claim victory over the other three. Part of it stemmed from the fact that Volantis and its sister cities were in a perpetual alliance with the cities of Slaver's bay. Astapor, Yunkai and Mereen. Cities which would have been razed to the ground by the Braavosi coalition as they espoused everything that Braavos stood against. So, the battles had entered into a stalemate.

Then came the news of Aegon the conqueror and his complete subjugation of Westeros which came as a dire shock to the Braavosi coalition. Just when they had believed that they had escaped the tyranny of Valyria, the last remnant house of Valyria had again spread its wings in the world. Immediately, the council, then newly-formed, turned its focus to the Kingdom of Westeros with one aim only. The absolute destruction of House Targaryen. To destroy it and ensure that they would not turn their attentions to Essos. In this, they had gained an unexpected ally. The Faith Militant of the Seven gods. Their plan to cause an uprising in Westerosi citizenry by inciting a rebellion on religious grounds against the invading heathen Valyrian overlords had met an extremely quick and violent end at the hands of Maegor the cruel.

Afterwards, the council had decided to take a subtler route. In this, they were aided by a certain section of Maesters from the citadel of Knowledge in the Reach. This sect was fanatical in its opposition to magic and any other esoteric arts and sought to impose the pre-eminence of knowledge in the world. For the next two centuries, working in conjunction with the council, the sect had slowly and deliberately weakened and brought low the bloodline of the House of Targaryen. Ensuring through the judicious use of poisons and medical cocktails, they had introduced a strain of mental illness in the royal bloodline. Furthermore, plots were deliberately enacted to engender civil strife inside the dynasty which had culminated spectacularly in the dance of the dragons which destroyed the power of House Targaryen for good. Whenever, certain Targaryen rulers had shown great promise, the faceless men had been employed to nip that problem in the bud.

Nearly a hundred years after the dance, House Targaryen had grown desperate enough to regain the power of dragons in its hand once again by any means necessary, and thus they attempted to hatch them again in Summerhall. This time, the council had finally decided to move to extreme measures and had enacted their plans in brutal fashion, which had culminated in the tragedy of Summerhall, where almost all the members of House Targaryen perished except for a few members.

After Summerhall, the throne had passed into the hands of Jaehaerys, the father of Aerys 'the mad' Targaryen. At that time, the council had become aware of a new rising star in the power structures of Westeros. One Tywin Lannister of Casterly Rock. A man, avaricious and totally ruthless, and who desired everything that House Targaryen had possessed. Emissaries were sent, and both sides sent feelers about engaging in acts of mutual interest. The council opened its coffers and wealth flowed into the coffers of Casterly Rock, and soon Tywin became the richest and most powerful man in Westeros as planned. The objective was simple. Ensure that Tywin would become hand and serve faithfully for a decade or two to give off the impression of absolute loyalty to House Targaryen. Then, arrange for the death of Aerys and have Tywin's daughter marry the crown prince and for the old lion to serve as regent. Then again, after the birth of his grandchild, arrange for a second Summerhall and ensure that the ruling family perished to an end this time. Then rule, with his grandchild having a claim over the throne. It was a perfect plan.

However, the trap at Duskendale was foiled by Barristan Selmy of the Kingsguard. So, new plans were devised, but before they could be enacted, a most curious thing happened. Crown Prince Rhaegar Targaryen eloped with the daughter of the Lord Paramount of the North, Rickard Stark for reasons unknown.

Under the council's guidance, Varys, the master of whispers flamed the king's paranoia to new heights, and Aerys executed Rickard Stark and his son and heir, Brandon, when they came to seek justice. As expected, this threw Westeros into civil war. However, even the council was taken aback when the civil war grew beyond even their control as the talents of Eddard Stark, Robert Baratheon and Rhaegar Targaryen, blossomed into an art form on the battlefield.

For a while, the council had been on the tenterhook fearing a victory by Rhaegar Targaryen and had watched with apprehension as war was waged upon the Westerosi soil with great fervour. And then, fate had smiled in their direction as the crown prince met his end at Robert Baratheon's hands. Now, all that was left was Aerys and the children of Rhaegar, and as such, an urgent missive was sent to Tywin to act. Sensing the opportunity, Tywin had responded magnificently. And the Targaryen line was now gone for good. All that was left was an ailing pregnant woman, and a young boy of five years, and few worthless retainers. The massacre of Rhaegar's children and the treatment meted out to his wife was met with a few raised eyebrows and then discarded as being of no consequence.

Then, after a few months, all their hopes were shattered as the nephew and foster-son of Rhaegar's wife debuted in front of the world in spectacular fashion. In a quest for vengeance, the boy-prince of Dorne had waged a magnificent comeback in a war that everyone had already considered to be over.

The Battle of Starpike had caused major alarm amongst all of them. Orders had been sent out hastily to gather information about the youngest prince of Dorne, to try and find any and all information about the newest star in Westeros. To their chagrin, they had learned that the boy had made use of the faceless men to eliminate Kevan Lannister, and orders were sent hastily to the House of Black and White ordering them to avoid taking any more contracts from House Martell. To find out that one of their own resources had been used against them without their knowledge had caused a bit of heartburn amongst few of the members of the council.

And then, the setbacks began to mount against them rapidly. The defeat of the Reach, the deaths of Lyanna Stark and Kevan Lannister, and now, the crown jewel in the shitstorm that they were facing, the murder of Jaime Lannister, and Tywin's berserk reaction which threatened all that they had achieved till date.

* * *

Pushing all these thoughts aside, the leader spoke out, "At any rate, Tywin is fast becoming a liability to us. The death of his heir has unbalanced him severely, and his actions in response to that have now possibly pushed Mace Tyrell and consecutively the Reach and all of its resources into Quentyn Martell's hands."

The Lorathi representative responded, "I warned all of you that depending too much on the Lannister could backfire on us. We should have prepared multiple contingencies for such a scenario."

The Tyroshi representative interjected, "He was the obvious candidate at the time," shaking his head in objection to that point, "At that time, there was no one else in Westeros capable of handling House Targaryen apart from him."

"Agreed," spoke the woman from Myr, "However, the problem is that Tywin has always overestimated himself, and has underestimated everyone else. Reigning unchecked over Westeros for nearly two decades from the shadow behind the throne without any real opposition has made him complacent, and he is now paying the price. Furthermore, why are we worried about him in the first place? He was always meant to be a disposable pawn in the end, was he not? Regardless of what he may have thought?"

"What do you mean?" the Qohori representative asked in curiosity.

"Well," the woman began, "We needed Tywin because we wanted him to take care of House Targaryen for us. Now that the deed is done, we have really no need to hold his hands do we? And in his mad rampage for revenge, if the boy-prince kills him, then that takes care of a loose end for us, doesn't it?" she asked with a coy tone, while everyone fell silent as they understood what she was implying.

"Abandon him, after all that he has done for us?" the Lorathi representative asked after a moment, to which the leader replied quietly. "It is nothing special. We made use of the Hightower's and the Velaryon's to stoke both sides during the Dance of the Dragons and then abandoned them to their fates. They are Westerosi in the end, tools meant to be used and discarded as we see fit. Tywin Lannister has served his purpose, and now, there is no need to expend our efforts to save him. If he lives, he lives, if he dies, he dies. That is all."

"But what about the situation in Westeros? Our plan was to have Robert Baratheon ascend to the throne, and then entice him to indulge in his vices without restraint so that he would impoverish and ruin Westeros as a united power for decades to come? Obviously, it all seems to be in flux now, doesn't it?"

"Do we really need Robert Baratheon on the throne after all?" the question came unexpectedly from the Norvosi representative.

"What do you mean? Was that not our plan all this time?" the Myrian woman asked in curiosity as everyone leaned forward to hear the Norvosi representative's answer.

"Hear me out," the Norvosi continued, "Our goal was the eradication of House Targaryen and its dragons and to ensure the destruction of the last true bloodline of Valyria, yes?" he asked, even as everyone nodded in agreement.

"Now," the man continued, "Forgive me if I speak wrongly, but isn't House Baratheon also descended from House Targaryen? Do we really need to put another house with Targaryen blood on the throne when we have spent the last three hundred years trying to bring it down in the first place?"

"They are descended from the conqueror's bastard brother, not exactly the same thing is it?" the Qohori asked after a moment's silence to which the Norvosi shook his head.

"Bastardry means they cannot claim the name, it doesn't really erase the fact that they have the same blood running in their veins, no matter how diluted it may be," he concluded while the others drew sharp breaths as they considered the facts brought forth.

"So, what do you propose?" the leader asked after a moment's contemplation.

"Let the war continue," the Norvosi spoke after a moment's silence. "The boy-prince has still fought only one battle as of now. If he prevails against the Lannister host then we can be certain that he will break Baratheon on the field. From what the eunuch has said to us, a rift is already starting to form between Stark and Baratheon. Let us enflame that further. If Stark abandons Baratheon, then Robert Baratheon will lose, and with his death, House Baratheon will also go the same way as that of House Targaryen."

"Intriguing, and what of our plans for weakening Westeros? If the boy wins, he may very well claim Westeros itself. To leave a united Westeros itself under the hands of a young and charismatic conqueror will have grave consequences for our interests. I have no intention of turning Quentyn Martell into the second coming of Aegon the conqueror," the Qohori spoke out.

"That will not happen," the Norvosi replied back with absolute conviction, "because of the fact that Eddard Stark still remains to keep him in check. As of now, Westeros is divided in two. The South led by Quentyn Martell of Dorne, and most likely the Reach, after Mace Tyrell joins him. Against this, we have the alliance of the North, the Vale and the Riverlands backing Robert Baratheon from the Stormlands, to which we must now add the Westlands of Tywin Lannister. If Robert Baratheon perishes, then both sides no longer have any reason to fight each other at all. Only the fact that Robert Baratheon claims the Iron throne compels them to fight each other. In this war it is most likely that the Stormlands and the West will be destroyed by Quentyn Martell, after which the Northern Alliance commanded by Eddard Stark will remain. Effectively, I believe that Quentyn Martell will come to rule Dorne, the Reach, and most likely the Crownlands, as the king of Southern Westeros while Eddard Stark will rule the North, the Vale and the Riverlands as the king of Northern Westeros; with the remnants of House Baratheon and House Lannister forced into irrelevance. Essentially, instead of a united Westeros, we will have to contend with Northern and Southern Westeros as two independent entities," he finished triumphantly while the others quietly absorbed the hypothesis of their colleague.

"And if the boy falls to Baratheon in battle?" the Qohori asked in trepidation after the dialogue.

"Then we lose nothing, our plan to deal with a Baratheon dynasty is in place already, is it not?" the Tyroshi shrugged his shoulders as if indicating that they had nothing to lose anyway.

"Agreed," their leader interjected with a nod of appreciation, "It is all dependent on whether the boy can smash the Lannister host at Bitterbridge. If he wins, then we need to start making plans on how to deal with a divided Westeros. Having spent the last four hundred years under the rule of the Targaryen's, the individual kingdoms of Westeros are not accustomed to the concept of self-rule. A fact that we can exploit. By engendering a spate of constant war between Northern and Southern Westeros to keep them down is not a bad idea at all. One that will require further deliberation," the leader spoke out, as guarded nods came from the others. "However," he continued, "there is another point. Varys has asked permission to enact the Blackfyre contingency," the leader replied with a small accompanying laugh.

"Again? One more Blackfyre?" the Myrian woman asked in mirth as she shook in laughter. "He really is a one-trick pony, after all," she chuckled while others reacted similarly.

"Come now, he believes we are aiding him in a Blackfyre restoration; after all, that was the reason why he agreed to work for us in the first place," the Lorathi chided, even as they all laughed. The Blackfyre rebellions were another means through which the council had chipped away the remaining strength of House Targaryen after the Dance of Dragons.

"Well, what do we do?" the Tyroshi asked, as everyone looked at him.

"Let him go ahead," the leader replied after a moment's contemplation, "In any ways, we do not know what the future holds anyways. Having a Blackfyre on hand to raise another Rebellion to destabilize Westeros could come in handy. We will keep it as a contingency in case Quentyn Martell and Eddard Stark prove to be too troublesome in the future," he ordered, while everyone gave their assent to the plan.

At that moment, a servant came in and knelt down in front of the leader and handed him a message and immediately went out. All talk ceased, as everyone waited to see what was going on. They knew that this meeting would not have been disturbed except for a matter of utmost importance.

"Hmm," the leader began to rap his knuckles on the desk as he read through the message and dropped the letter in front of him after he finished reading it.

"Quentyn Martell," he announced, "has departed for Bitterbridge with the full might of the Dornish army as of yesterday."

 **"What?"**

 **"Already!"**

 **"That is too fast!"**

 **"Has he made cause with Mace Tyrell already?"** the Myrian woman asked shrewdly as she looked at their leader.

"No," was the shocking reply. "He has left for Bitterbridge on his own volition without waiting to consult with Mace Tyrell. In fact, Mace Tyrell was already on his way to Starpike to parley with him before the massacre of Bitterbridge. Now, unexpectedly, the boy-prince is racing towards Bitterbridge as if a demon is on his heels."

"What on earth is the thrice-damned boy doing?" the Tyroshi asked in frustration.

"Ingenious," the Myrian woman whispered with shock rife in her tone, "Before Bitterbridge, we expected Dorne and the Reach to enter into lengthy negotiations to make cause on equal terms. But the success of those talks was by no means guaranteed. If he now retakes Bitterbridge and avenges the massacre before the Reach can deal with it, then the Reach will have no choice but to accept his demands unquestioned. Their honour and the opinion of the world will demand nothing less. If he crushes the Lannister's at Bitterbridge even before the Reach can make a move, then he will place an unbearable debt upon Mace Tyrell's shoulders, one that the Lord of the Reach can repay only by accepting anything that the boy demands!"

A ripple of shock went through the members as angry whispers began to emanate through the room. Suddenly, they were all brought back to attention as the leader rapped his knuckles on the desk to gain attention again.

"Normally, it would be the case as you suggest, but this letter suggests otherwise," the leader retorted, as everyone became curious to hear the reason.

" _According to this letter,_ " the leader continued, " _Quentyn Martell has left Starpike with almost the entire martial nobility of Dorne, and three new companions._ "

"Companions?" the Lorathi asked in surprise.

" _Yes,_ " the Leader replied with a bit of surprise lacing his tone, " _Accompanying the Dornish host are in order, Ser Barristan Selmy, Sandor Clegane and … **Arthur Dayne**._"

"That's …," the Tyroshi representative stood up in alarm and he was not the only one to do so. All of the council members had stood up in shock, few of them even trembling outright.

" _With this, there can be no doubt,_ " the leader growled in anger while cursing their bad luck inwardly, " _There is only one thing which would make the entirety of Dornish Army throw all caution to the wind. Gregor Clegane and Amory Lorch are most likely inside Bitterbridge. And, Quentyn Martell is now going to unleash everything he has in his arsenal to bring that accursed city down. We are most likely going to see a battle the likes of which the world has never seen before!_ "

* * *

 **Author's note:**

And Ding!Ding!Ding! The Battle of Bitterbridge begins ...


	23. Battle of Bitterbridge - Prelude

**Starpike castle, 8 days after the massacre of Bitterbridge,**

"My Prince, there are three men at the castle gate who crave an audience with you," Areo Hotah informed Quentyn, who was busy holding court with the entire nobility of Dorne who had finally managed to make their way to Starpike.

All talk ceased as Quentyn looked up at his sworn shield, "And? You surely did not interrupt me just to inform me of this? Who are they?"

All talk in the room ceased as everyone turned around to look at the bearded priest of Norvos expectantly.

"Barristan Selmy, Arthur Dayne and a young man who is severely disfigured, who I presume is Sandor Clegane," the reply was curt and precise, misinterpretation was impossible.

Quentyn's eyes widened even as he began to tap the armrest of his chair even as he tried to sort his thoughts. His uncle and fellow lords on the other hand were not so restrained.

" _A Clegane! And he dares to show his face in Dorne! That boy has some nerve!"_ Oberyn seethed in anger as his hand automatically fell towards his spear which was currently lying next to him on the table.

" _I had heard Ser Barristan had escaped, but this is quite surprising!"_

" _And the Sword of the Morning has returned now after all this time? What the hell was he doing until now?"_

" _What is their purpose here? And now?"_

After a few minutes, Quentyn raised his hand and everyone fell silent.

"Admit them inside," he ordered, even as Hotah went out while a ripple of unease spread throughout the room.

* * *

Twenty minutes later, when Areo Hotah entered the room, all of the men in the room became silent, as they observed the two Kingsguard members enter the room. The third member, the Clegane was not so poised, as he took in the venomous glares of all the men in the room but remarkably, he managed to hold his composure, just barely at that.

As they approached the throne room of Starpike, all three of them knelt on one knee and bowed, and waited for Quentyn to give them leave to stand up.

"My guests, you place me under an interesting conundrum," Quentyn spoke out, even as he looked at his guests, "I see before me three different people. Two Kingsguard members, and a boy who was a servant of the greatest enemy of Dorne. Ser Barristan, you famously fought for Rhaegar and then spurned the usurper for the treatment he meted out to my Aunt and cousins. Then, you broke out and made your way here, to render me aid, I assume. You have the least to fear," he finished, at which a grateful Barristan Selmy nodded his head in gratitude and stood up.

"Next, we have you, Ser Arthur Dayne, the Sword of the Morning, the greatest swordsman in the world," Quentyn continued, as his voice became harsher, "You were closest in council to Rhaegar, and followed him faithfully, and yet, when it came to the Rebellion, you participated in the one battle which was Rhaegar's greatest victory and came close to killing Hoster Tully and Jon Arryn themselves. But after that, you left the battlefield, and never returned. And now, after the death of your prince, your king, and my aunt and her children, you now return. What am I to make of it, I wonder?" he concluded as he glared at the man, who simply stayed bowed and gave no answer.

After a moment, Quentyn's eyes hardened as he looked at the man, " _So I see, it is as I thought after all_. Your silence has given me all the answers that I need, yes?" he asked, to which the Sword of the Morning looked up at him and gave him a curt nod.

There was a hint of a smile on Quentyn's face, "Very well, we will speak on this later, but for now, we come to the most important person in this room. Sandor Clegane, I must admit, you place me in an unusual situation. What am I to make of you, I wonder?" he asked, even as he looked at the young man in fascination. Both of them were of the same age, but that is where all the differences ended.

Fearlessly, the Clegane looked up at him and spoke out, "Well, for starters, you could let me live," he spoke in a dry tone which was quite unappreciated by all the Lords present.

" **HOW DARE YOU, BOY?"**

" **LANNISTER SCUM, YOU DARE SHOW YOUR FACE IN DORNE?"**

" **MY PRINCE, JUST GIVE THE WORD AND WE SHALL DISPATCH THIS FOOL TO THE DEPTHS OF HELL!"**

" **CLEARLY, HIS BRAINS WERE BURNT OUT AS WELL, WHEN HE BURNED HIS FACE!"**

" **SILENCE! THE PRINCE DID NOT GIVE YOU ALL LEAVE TO SPEAK!"** the thunderous voice of Oberyn Martell roared and drowned out the din of the Lords who were rocked back into silence.

"Thank you, uncle," Quentyn smiled pleasantly, even as he looked at the Clegane, who looked very bored with the proceedings.

"Now then, what do I do with you? Give me a good reason as to why I should not have you killed where you stand?" he asked curtly, at which Barristan Selmy jerked and looked as if he wanted to protest, but deflated at a single glance from Quentyn and became silent.

"We are waiting for an answer, boy?" Oberyn interjected harshly, to which the Clegane stood up, and looked at Quentyn fearlessly, eye to eye.

"Because our interests align," he said with as much force as he could muster.

"Oh, and how would that be?" Quentyn asked curiously, even though an inkling of what the boy wanted flickered through his mind, but he shook it away. He needed it hear directly from the person in front of him.

"I want revenge," the boy said calmly, "However, I lack the strength or resources to achieve it. You on the other hand possess both. I intended to use Selmy here to achieve it, but you are a better prospect," he admitted shamelessly, as the jaws of everyone in the room dropped at the audacity of the boy's words.

" _You intend to use me?_ " Quentyn asked perplexed, and then broke out into uproarious laughter, while the room descended into shocked silence looking at the two boys dazed and surprised as to what was going on.

"Amusing, and why should I indulge this request of yours?" Quentyn asked, as his doubts were now confirmed, but he dragged it out for the benefit of everyone else present.

"Because the person on whom I want revenge is the same as you. My brother, Gregor; agree to aid me, and I will tell you where he and Lorch are," he admitted, while the Lords in the chamber hissed in anger at the name of Gregor Clegane.

"And what makes you think that we can't torture the information out of you?" Quentyn asked after a moment's pause, to which Sandor grinned. He took out a small knife hidden within his boots, and placed it at his own neck. Immediately, shouts of alarm rang out, as all the men in the room drew out their swords and surrounded the young Clegane.

"Hold!" Quentyn ordered after a moment, and stood up from his throne and stepped down and approached Sandor until there was a distance of only ten feet between them. "You do realize that by killing yourself, you will fail in your own goal, correct?" Quentyn asked with an amused smile on his face, to which Sandor grinned ferally.

"No, but I will rob you of your best chance to get my brother and Lorch," he replied back, "Usually Tywin keeps those two arseholes close to him, and does not allow anyone else to order them around. But due to the chaos you caused by killing the little lion, they are currently far away from him due to orders issued by Tygett, but it will not be long before he calls them back to his side. And once he gets them back to his side, you will never get them. **That old fuck will kill them himself if only to deny you the revenge you want above all else**. He is a spiteful bastard like that. As of now, I am the only one who knows where those two are, and if you want to avenge your aunt and your cousins, you will guarantee me my right to live, and in return I will tell you where they are," he finished, while everyone looked at him, as if he was mad.

After a moment, there was a loud chuckle, and Oberyn Martell laughed out, "Oh, I like him! He is smart, this one! It must actually be a crime against nature to like a Clegane, but then again, we are in an age of miracles, I guess!"

"Hmm, you are not lying, that much I can tell; however, you were on the run after escaping with Ser Barristan. How can you possess knowledge about events that occurred in the Lannister camp even after you left them?" Quentyn observed even as he circled Sandor like a hawk circled around its prey.

"Because I am the only one here who knows how they think, and what they will do. I was Tywin's cupbearer, and thus privy to lot more information than you can imagine, and know how the Lannister's will act in case Tywin was incapacitated!" Sandor replied back with a hint of arrogance lacing his tone. However, his visage quailed as Quentyn glared at him, and he shrunk back.

"I will allow your insolence to pass. You seem not to care whether you live or die, and courage of that sort must at least be acknowledged, if not respected. Very well, I will agree to your terms. Your life and safety will be guaranteed, as long as your information proves worthwhile, should it not …," he left his sentence hanging, to which Sandor nodded in agreement, knowing that he had pushed his luck as far as he could.

"Well, where are Gregor Clegane and Amory Lorch?" Quentyn asked, even as he sat back on his throne.

"Bitterbridge! They are in Bitterbridge with the rest of the Lannister Army. My brother is too much of a rabid dog to be left alone without supervision, and from what I have heard, the old fuck was bedridden when your man killed the little golden shit. Tygett would never leave him unsupervised, and why do you think the massacre at Bitterbridge went so well? It is because he has my brother and that cunt Lorch, with him. This is the kind of thing they revel in," he spoke with disgust rife in his tone, while Quentyn became silent.

His men on the other hand were not.

" _My Prince! This is a golden chance! We must make for Bitterbridge with all haste!"_

" _Give us the order, and we will avenge Princess Elia and her children!"_

" _Let us move now!"_

As the din began to grow, Quentyn stood up and everyone became silent. Oberyn was watching his nephew with a gimlet eye.

"Silence," Quentyn spoke out, even as he gazed at the assembled lords.

"If we are to mobilize our forces, the preparations for supplies are not yet complete," he spoke out, as everyone became silent. "The enemy having eliminated the entire population of Bitterbridge has no distractions and will commit itself to the complete defence of the city. Though Bitterbridge is a small city, it cannot be termed as a military stronghold, but the rules of siege warfare still apply. They are well supplied, if we consider their own supplies as well as the one's they have plundered from the city as well," he concluded, even as he began to pace around.

"So, how shall we proceed? We are going, are we not?" Oberyn asked after a moment, as everyone turned to look at him in anticipation.

"Do you even need to ask such an asinine question, uncle?" Quentyn smirked, at which the Lords of Dorne began to smile in anticipation.

"The problem we face, is that of time," Quentyn continued, "Tygett Lannister is hoping for us to invest in a lengthy siege, and wait for Robert Baratheon to come and relieve him, by attacking us from the rear, while we besiege them. Planning to corner us through a two pincered attack, they hope to defeat us. As far as plans go, it is not a bad one. Unfortunately, against someone like me, it will not work," he smirked, as he stood up.

"Hear my orders," he spoke out loudly and immediately, all the commanders in the room stood rigidly in attention to hear the orders.

"The enemy seeks to trap us in a war of attrition, but we will not give them that chance. We will strike hard, with swiftness and without mercy! We cannot permit ourselves to get caught in a long siege. We must break Bitterbridge in less than 10 days, anything less in unacceptable! Do you understand what I mean here?" he asked loudly, to which all his commanders shouted out in the affirmative.

"Good! Lord Yronwood! You shall command the Vanguard! Set out immediately with five thousand lightly armed horsemen! Your goal is to reach Bitterbridge as fast as you can and gain complete control of all the roads leading to and out of Bitterbridge! No one shall be permitted to come to the city or its surroundings, and likewise no one from within the city is to leave as well! Take a company of cavalry archers with you. Their only job will be to kill any bird that flies over the city. Be it a raven, a sparrow, an owl, or even an eagle. No birds of any kind must be permitted to fly out from that city! Travel light and carry enough provisions to last for only two days! If you run out, forage for supplies from the surrounding area. Within two days, the rest of the Army will arrive as well, so you need not overly worry! You have six hours to complete preparations and then you must leave!"

"As you command, My Prince!" Lord Yronwood bowed and left in high spirits. Clearly, being awarded the honour of commanding the vanguard had pleased the man.

"Next, Lord Uller! You will take command of the remaining cavalry forces in Starpike and set out behind Lord Yronwood. It will be your responsibility to transport both the soldiers as well as enough provisions to last for 10 days along with you. You must reach Bitterbridge in two days. Failure to do so will result in execution! I will not permit delays of any sort, no matter what! Are we clear?" he ordered harshly, to which Lord Uller gave a curt bow, and immediately left without even speaking a word. Time clearly was of the essence to him.

"Lord William Dayne," Quentyn continued, "You will remain in Starpike with 5,000 men and command this castle, while the rest of the Army and the remaining commanders will move with me to Bitterbridge. Once we reach the city, then I shall take command of the siege personally. You are all dismissed! See to your preparations," Quentyn commanded and as he was preparing to leave, he turned around, "Oh, and Lord William, you may expect Mace Tyrell to arrive in less than three days. If he does, then please explain the reason for our absence and direct him towards Bitterbridge. I will take it from there," he concluded, to which Lord William Dayne nodded in agreement, while the rest of the Lords began to leave the room to their assigned duties.

* * *

"Wait, Prince Quentyn!" the voice of Barristan Selmy came out, and Quentyn paused, as he looked at the Kingsguard.

"Please allow us to join you in battle! Allow us to avenge Lady Elia and her children!" Barristan asked, no begged him, as he knelt down to one knee, while Arthur Dayne remained stone faced, but he too knelt down.

After three minutes of agonizing silence, Quentyn replied, " _No!_ "

"What?" Arthur Dayne was the first one to jump up in shock, followed by Barristan while Sandor turned around and looked at the young prince of Dorne with curiosity rife in his eyes.

" _ **I am not that generous of a Lord, to allow men whose hearts belong to another Lord to serve me**_ ," his words were like a slap on the face to the Kingsguard, who looked as if someone had flayed them alive.

"Even now, your loyalty is to Rhaegar and his family, and you have come here only because you believe I will aid you in bringing down Gregor Clegane and Amory Lorch! But I have no need of men with differing loyalties! House Martell and Dorne has severed all ties with the Iron Throne and House Targaryen. We will not fight in the name of the family which betrayed us so deeply and caused the death of our princess! As long as you hold to the oaths of the Kingsguard, you serve House Targaryen, and I have no need for servants of House Targaryen! Of the three of you, only Sandor Clegane was honest enough to tell me what he desires and as such, he alone has earned the right to come with me to Bitterbridge," Quentyn continued, while the eyes of Barristan and Dayne widened in alarm, while Sandor looked nonplussed.

"What will it take for us to convince you of our sincerity?" Arthur Dayne asked after a moment's silence, to which Quentyn turned towards him and spoke in a tone which was final.

" _Renounce your oaths to the Kingsguard! Renounce all oaths of fealty to House Targaryen and all of its living members! Renounce all oaths of fealty you have sworn to Rhaegar Targaryen and his family, and swear your service to me and mine! Only then will I allow you to come_ ," Quentyn ordered and then turned around and made his way out of the chambers leaving two disturbed Kingsguard and a confused Westlander.

* * *

Twenty minutes later, in Quentyn's chamber, Oberyn Martell was standing behind his nephew, even as said nephew looked somewhat disturbed. There was nobody else in the room, as his nephew had ordered that they be not disturbed.

"What is going on, really?" he asked his nephew outright, forgoing any roundabout speech.

"I have been outmanoeuvred, for now, I must admit that I find it … irritating," Quentyn chuckled as he poured himself a glass of wine, while Oberyn whirled around in shock, " **WHAT?!"**

"Surely, you did not think that Barristan Selmy and Arthur Dayne's arrival here was a bit too precipitous? The two greatest warriors in Westeros arrive at our door, and coincidentally bring the one person alive who can tell us where our targets are! Did you not find that a bit too arranged? Especially considering the fact that those two men are the only one's alive who can bring down Gregor Clegane in combat? This was clearly planned by someone who intends to make use of us to achieve their own goals," Quentyn admitted, while Oberyn's jaw dropped in shock.

"Who in the world could …" Oberyn began to speak, while Quentyn interrupted him.

" _ **Eddard Stark."**_

"You cannot be serious!" Oberyn whispered, even as he sank into his chair, his eyes wide open with disbelief, even as he looked at his nephew wondering whether the boy had gone mad.

"I admit, it all makes sense now, retroactively, once I look at it from this perspective," Quentyn admitted quietly, as he brought out his cyvasse board and began to place the pieces on the board.

"From the beginning, once I conquered Starpike, there were a series of unexplained events which occurred simultaneously, that while innocuous at first, now it is clear, was designed to exacerbate the conflict between us and Robert Baratheon to an unresolvable degree. The very first of it is the fact that Arthur Dayne killed Lyanna Stark. More to the point, it was designed to inflame a searing feeling of hatred in Robert towards Dorne, the same level of hatred he possesses towards the Targaryen's. They succeeded, simply because of who Ser Arthur is," he finished his point as he moved a pawn forward on the board.

"Because he is a Dornishman," Oberyn replied back, to which Quentyn nodded.

"Correct. Next point, and the most crucial, Eddard Stark's prolonged absence from Robert's side during this time. Eddard Stark's reasoning was that his sister was dead, and he was travelling with a reduced retinue to avoid being targeted by our agents, which is a lie. We have never targeted him, you know that, but Robert doesn't. Then, the reasoning is simple, is it not? Eddard Stark does not want to come under public scrutiny and is trying to hide his presence from the eyes of the world. Why? Why is he trying so hard to stay away from the eyes of everyone? What is he hiding?" he asked, even as he moved another pawn forward.

"Third, he is not doing this alone. He has collaborators. You have known Arthur Dayne since he was a boy. Is he the kind of man who would kill a woman regardless of whatever offence she may have given?" he asked quietly, to which Oberyn scrunched his face as if trying to remember something.

"No, he is not," his uncle admitted after a while, to which Quentyn chuckled, "Then why did the Sword of the Morning, the greatest knight in the realm accept that blemish on his honour without a single word of protest?"

"Why indeed," Oberyn mused before his eyes widened, "He willingly accepted it! Why?"

"I will come to that," Quentyn smirked, even as he moved ahead another pawn.

"And now, to the main part, this is where he tipped his hand to me, by executing too volatile a move. He arranged it so that Mace Tyrell would have no choice but to ally with me," he admitted, as he moved one more pawn on the board.

"WHAT? HOW? THAT DOESN'T EVEN MAKE ANY SENSE?" Oberyn shouted as he looked at his nephew in shock and was almost literally close to tearing his hair out.

" _ **By murdering Jaime Lannister and pinning its blame on me,"**_ Quentyn spoke in subdued anger, while Oberyn dropped his wineglass in shock as he looked at his nephew, eyes wide with horror.

"Impossible!" Oberyn whispered, as he looked at his nephew as if he was a mad man. "You were the one who did it, you hired the surviving Reyne's to …," he looked at his nephew hoping desperately to hear confirmation for his words, to which Quentyn shook his head in the negative.

" _The faceless men refused to take a second contract from me after killing Kevan Lannister for unknown reasons, whoever the man who killed Jaime Lannister was, he was no Reyne and he most definitely was not my man,_ " Quentyn admitted dispassionately, while Oberyn looked as if he had been kicked in his balls.

" _And even if they had accepted my second contract, my second target was Cersei Lannister, not Jaime_ ," he admitted, while Oberyn imitated a fish by flapping his jaws open and then closing them.

"But why did you go along with it?" Oberyn asked hoarsely, to which Quentyn shrugged his shoulders.

"What did you expect me to do? Announce publicly that I didn't do it! Who would have believed me in the first place? Tell a lie boldly and grandly without any fear, and people will believe it to be the truth even if it is not. By killing Jaime Lannister and blaming it on me, he knew that Tywin would lose all sense of rationality and make a mistake, which led to …,"

"Bitterbridge!" Oberyn interrupted, to which Quentyn nodded as he moved another pawn on the board.

"He knew that by doing so, Mace Tyrell would have no course left but to ally with me. He is pushing Robert and Tywin to a war with me with all possible speed, and at the same time, he evened the odds on our side by forcing Mace Tyrell to side with me, by giving us parity in numbers. What does this tell you?" Quentyn asked as he looked at his uncle, who was deep in thought.

"He wants us to get rid of Robert Baratheon and Tywin Lannister for him, and is stacking the board on our side," Oberyn admitted grudgingly.

"Yes, but that is not the point. The point is why is he doing this, what is his motive?" Quentyn asked, to which Oberyn scoffed. "He and Robert are allies, and the greatest of friends in the eyes of the world. He cannot afford to make an enemy of Robert, at least in the eyes of the world, lest he lose all credibility," Oberyn spoke out, to which Quentyn nodded.

"Close enough, you are now beginning to think like a strategist, uncle, but the point is, why is he moving against Robert? For what reason? _Why has he remained hidden in the shadows while pulling all these strings?_ "

"Because he has something to hide …," Oberyn's eyes widened, even as Quentyn nodded in agreement, "There is something that he wants to hide, something that if revealed would turn him and Robert into enemies. Before that happens, he plans to use us to get rid of Robert," Oberyn Martell wondered, while simultaneously acknowledging the tremendous masterstroke played by the Lord of Winterfell.

" _Exactly!_ " Quentyn crowed, " _and that something is of so great an import that even Arthur Dayne believed it to be worth sullying his honour for and accepted the blame for killing Lyanna Stark, who I believe very much, to be still alive!_ "

Oberyn jerked back as if he had been scalded, "Nonsense, why would Arthur do that for a Stark? The only one's he would go to that externt are the … Targary …," his eye's widened in horrified realization, to which Quentyn nodded grimly, even as he pointed to the cyvasse board in front of him.

The pawns had all been arranged to protect one particular piece.

 _ **The King Piece.**_

"Lyanna Stark has borne Rhaegar Targaryen a son. There can be no other explanation. There is no way that Arthur Dayne would accept such a stain on his honour except to save the life of the new-born child of his greatest friend. If Robert Baratheon were to find out that Lyanna Stark is alive and has borne Rhaegar's child, he will demand their deaths, which will fracture their alliance. To avoid this scenario, Eddard Stark has destabilized House Lannister and is using them and their actions as bait to goad Robert into fighting us prematurely," Quentyn scoffed, even as Oberyn purpled in rage.

"And once, we get rid of Robert and Tywin for him, he will return as the saviour of the alliance, and at the same time, produce the last trueborn heir of Rhaegar Targaryen, who coincidentally happens to be his nephew, and will claim the Iron Throne on his behalf, with himself as the hand of the king. With Robert and Tywin dead, we will have no cause to fight them, and he will sue for peace. Only difference being that instead of his friend, it will be his nephew on the throne. It is ingenious really, absolutely cold-hearted, ruthless and calculating, I never thought that I would meet an opponent of this calibre in this world," Quentyn shook his head in wonder, while Oberyn stood up and kicked his chair aside in anger as he went into full vitriolic flow.

Some curses like 'evil, twisted, macabre, vicious bastard' were barely tolerable, but the rest was frankly unspeakable.

"You cannot seriously be accommodating of this, this …," Oberyn whirled around in anger at his nephew who scoffed.

"Of course not! Who do you think I am? And besides, have you forgotten that if we allow him to press his nephew's claim, by default we would be acknowledging the fact that Rhaegar set Aunt Elia aside and named my cousins as bastards? Eddard Stark may have forced me to act according to his plans, fine, I will go along with it, as it gives me what I want, the head of Tywin Lannister with Robert Baratheon as the price to be paid for Stark's actions. But, there is no obligation for us to go along with his end goals. He may have devised the plan, but I will be the one to decide its outcome!" Quentyn retorted with a bit of anger in his tone, while Oberyn looked at him sharply.

"What do you mean?"

"It means that against my will, I will have to conquer Westeros or at least half of it, before Stark comes forward with his nephew, I guess I will have to conquer Kings Landing after all," Quentyn sighed as though he was tired, while Oberyn looked at his nephew in shock.

"What?" he asked hoarsely, while Quentyn grinned wanly with mirth coloring his eyes.

"Yes, I guess I will have to claim the Reach and the Crownlands along with Dorne, basically the entirety of Southern Westeros after all," he grinned, while Oberyn looked at him dumbfounded.

"That still does not remove the problem of Lyanna Stark and her whelp," Oberyn replied, to which Quentyn paused, and after a few moments he smiled ferally.

"Then let us pre-empt them. The one advantage we have over them is the fact that they are not yet aware that we have erased all lawful evidence of Rhaegar and Lyanna's marriage. I need you to contact that enterprising smuggler of yours … Salladhor Saan, I believe his name was?" he asked Oberyn who was caught off-guard.

"Yes, but what do you need him for?" Oberyn asked in surprise, to which Quentyn pointed at a particular location on a map hanging on the opposite side of the wall.

"I need him to go there and smuggle back the only people capable of countering the claims of Lyanna Stark's child to Sunspear. He is to go to Dragonstone and bring Rhaella and Viserys Targaryen to us. If he succeeds, I will make him my vassal, as well as a Lord Paramount and hand over Dragonstone to him," Quentyn admitted while Oberyn's nostrils flared in anger, but after a moment's contemplation, he sighed.

"So, A Targaryen to counter a Targaryen then?"

"Of course not, we are no longer bowing to a Targaryen dynasty. Aerys and his actions saw to that. However, once I conquer the Crownlands, we need a vassal house to govern them. The people of the Crownlands are fanatically loyal to the Targaryen's. This will be our offer. We will allow House Targaryen to rule the Crownlands and Kings Landing as our vassals, and in return they must back our claim that Lyanna Stark's child is a bastard, a new Blackfyre, or Icefyre considering their land's history. This way, they are protected and their House does not get destroyed, and we get someone to counter the claim of Lyanna Stark's son, if in the future he presses his claim over all of Westeros," Quentyn concluded, while Oberyn sighed heavily, but nodded in assent.

"And what of our errant Kingsguard?" Oberyn asked after a moment, to which Quentyn narrowed his eyes.

"Unless they renounce any and all forms of loyalty to House Targaryen, they are not welcome on this expedition to Bitterbridge. Make it clear to them that if they wish to avenge Elia Martell then this is the price they have to pay. The question is, does their love and respect for my aunt trump their loyalty to the child of a northern harlot?"

The answer was it did. The next morning when Quentyn's army departed for Bitterbridge, it counted three new commanders amongst its numbers.

* * *

 **AUTHOR'S NOTE:**

I did say that Ned's actions when revealed would be a game-changer.

And before anybody complains that this is not the honorable lord Stark, I will remind everyone that I do not follow canon.

He and Bobby B may be best buds, but blood trumps friendship each time.

 **P.S.** Minor edits made in the last line. 'The answer was it did not' has been changed to 'it did'.


	24. Battle of Bitterbridge - Opening Act I

_Amongst the manifold points of importance that are ascribed to Prince Quentyn Martell and his actions, the one thing that stands above all is the creation of the group known as the 'Three Great Heavens'. Simply put, 'Great Heaven' was the title afforded to a person, whom Quentyn Martell also later known as 'The Invincible', deemed to be as capable as himself in the arts of war. They were essentially his deputies, and in whom he reposed absolute trust. Three warriors deemed so capable that it was said that the heavens itself trembled at their arrival._

 _The Great Heavens were allowed the right to unilaterally command the military might of the Southern Kingdom of Westeros and possessed the right to freely wage war without needing the approval of the crown as long as it was deemed to be in the good of the Kingdom._

 _The very first time that the first two members of this group converged together was at the Battle of Bitterbridge. Anders Yronwood and Randyll Tarly, arguably two of the greatest generals to have arisen in the Golden age of War in Westeros. During the Battle of Bitterbridge, Quentyn Martell had ordered Lord Yronwood to race ahead and take command of the area surrounding Bitterbridge before the arrival of the main body of the Dornish Army. When Lord Yronwood set out to do this task, he succeeded, but at the same time, his outriders ran into an unexpected encounter. The Army of the Reach under the command of Mace Tyrell and Randyll Tarly._

 _Although it was unknown at the time, Mace Tyrell had ordered the Army of the Reach to assemble at Bitterbridge as a precaution against any moves by Robert Baratheon while he intended to parley with Quentyn Martell. However, the massacre of Bitterbridge changed his mind. Contrary to all expectations, Mace Tyrell decided to first retake Bitterbridge and avenge this stain of honour on his people and his land before proceeding to Starpike to meet the Prince of Dorne. Though neither side was aware of it at that time, both armies, the Dornish and that of the Reach were racing towards Bitterbridge with the same goal._

 _On the outset of the first day of the battle, the Dornish outriders, owing to the superior speed of their horses arrived first on the field. They immediately set about the task of completely isolating the city, and it was at this time that they ran into the outriders of the Army of the Reach who also arrived at the outskirts of Bitterbridge at the same time. Randyll Tarly had also decided upon the same goal of isolating the city before assaulting it and had sent out his own scouts with the same goal as evinced by Quentyn Martell._

 _When both sides met for the first time, they approached each other cautiously, and made their intentions known to each other to avoid any misunderstandings or unwanted clashes. At that time, using great foresight, Lord Yronwood sought out Mace Tyrell himself and explained the position of the Dornish Army and as to why they intended to assault the city. Although initially taken aback, Mace Tyrell uncannily adapted to this unexpected situation and decided to wait for the arrival of Quentyn Martell himself before proceeding further. Furthermore, acting upon the advice of his father-in-law, Lord Hightower, he recused himself from direct command and handed over the reins to General Tarly and General Yronwood. There, the two men now possessing a surfeit of soldierly talent at their hands rapidly pooled their resources together and set out about their task._

 _The next day, the main Army of the Dornish arrived along with Quentyn Martell himself. After appraising himself of the situation, Quentyn Martell met with the leadership of the Reach, and in that meeting, they laid down the foundation of what would eventually become the Great Southern Kingdom. Quentyn would take over total command of the combined armies of the Reach and Dorne, and with Lord Yronwood and Lord Tarly as his deputies, set his sight upon Bitterbridge much to the lamentation of the Westerlands. The result of this battle would make Quentyn Martell a household name in the entire world._

\- _Excerpt from 'The Golden Age of War in Westeros' by Archmaester Qyburn._

* * *

" **All troops, Alert status!"**

" **Maintain vigilance while advancing!"**

" **Be wary of the thickets to our right!"**

The advance scouts of the Dornish cavalry regiment were racing towards the city of Bitterbridge while the troop commanders were continuously barking out orders to the men dividing them into proper groups and commands. Upon orders from their prince, Anders Yronwood had immediately set out with a troop of five thousand cavalry soldiers within a scant time frame of seven hours.

As they raced towards the city, Lord Yronwood divided his troop into five sections, four of which were ordered to cover each of the four directions, with the other section under his personal command and as a reserve. The Dornish cavalry were divided into three sections, scouts, skirmishers, and cavalry archers.

 _Scouts were the ones who were armoured the least and carried just a sword for defence. Sacrificing all defensive capabilities and focusing purely on speed, their only goal was to act as the eyes and ears of the army._

 _Skirmishers were the shock troops of the cavalry. Possessing moderate levels of armour and equipped with swords and glaives, they maintained a balance between mobility and power and were the frontline troops of the cavalry._

 _The cavalry archers were a new addition to the armed forces of Dorne devised by Quentyn Martell himself. Lightly armoured and possessing short recurve bows with two quivers containing 100 arrows each, the premise of this group was to rapidly assault an enemy ground troop from a safe distance and retreat before the enemy could counter-attack._

"My Lord, we are now three leagues away from the borders of Bitterbridge," Ser Archibald Yronwood, his nephew and one of his two deputies spoke out. Also known as 'The Big Man', Archibald was six-and-a-half-feet tall, broad of shoulder and huge of belly. He was also the man who boasted of being the strongest man in the entire army of Dorne.

"Hmm," Lord Yronwood paused, and raised his hand indicating a general halt to the entire troop as he dismounted from his horse.

"Bring me a map of the area surrounding the city," he ordered his squire, who hurried to obey. Soon, the map of the city was laid out in front of him on the ground. He sat down on the ground and began to look through the map.

"There exist eight villages along the path to Bitterbridge, yes?" Yronwood asked, even as he looked at the map with a keen gaze.

"Not quite, sir. Our scouts report another small village located northwest to the city," one of the scouts reported while he considered it.

"How many leagues to the northwest of the city?"

"Ahh … about nine leagues, sir!"

His men began to feel apprehensive as they watched their lord sit down without a care in the world.

" _I-is he actually attempting to create a strategy right here on the spot?!"_

" _This is lunacy! We're nearly on the doorstep of Bitterbridge!"_

" _We came here with only a few men to avoid attracting attention!"_

" _If the Lannister patrols find us …"_

Suddenly, the thoughts of Lord Yronwood's guards was disturbed by the sound of hoofbeats as a group of twenty horsemen came upon them. The eyes of the Dornish cavalrymen went wide open in fear and a few of them started to sweat as they noticed the sigil of House Lannister on their tabards.

" **HM? Who the hell are you lot? And exactly what are you up to over there?"**

The members of Yronwood's party began to panic, and their body language and their disposition further alerted the Lannister patrol.

" **Hm…you don't seem to be affiliated with any of the patrol units organized by Lord Lannister. State your name and affiliation,"** the leader of the patrol ordered as he made his way forward.

Suddenly, without any warning, the hulking form of Archibald Yronwood appeared behind them, and before the Lannister soldiers could react, he cut them down with a single swing of his blade.

However, it was not without consequences. The death rattle of the two soldiers along with the sounds made by their horses as well as the clash of the weapons was heard all around. Immediately, more voices could be heard.

" **What's wrong?"**

" **What was that noise?"**

" _The…there's more of them!"_ one of the Dornish soldiers exclaimed, even as he withdrew his blade.

" _Please hurry … My Lord!"_ another soldier exclaimed, as he too raced forward.

"Archibald?" Lord Yronwood asked, without even looking up as he continued to pore through the map.

"I believe they outnumber us three to one," his nephew replied with a careless shrug of his shoulders.

"Will that be an issue?" the Warden of the Stoneway asked, without even bothering to turn around while more members from the Lannister patrol approached their group.

"Please take as long as you need, My Lord," Archibald Yronwood answered, even as he raced ahead with his spiked mace in his hand, as he and his men engaged in a ferocious battle with the Lannister patrol. The Dornishmen created a circle around their lord and continued to battle, ensuring that their master was not disturbed.

Even though a raging battle erupted around him, Anders Yronwood calmly observed the map surrounding Bitterbridge without nary a care. Ten minutes later, there was nothing left to care about.

* * *

 **Author's note:  
**  
My apologies to everyone hoping for a long chapter. Unfortunately, due to heavy commitments to my personal life owing to my work, I am getting far lesser time to devote to this than hoped. As such, I have decided to break this arc into smaller chapters which I can update as and when I get the time to, rather than trying to write one huge chapter, which may or may not be possible. I know this may not be liked by some people, but this is all I can do at the moment.

Thanks to all my readers for their support.

Regards,  
A.S.


	25. Battle of Bitterbridge - Opening Act II

"Bitterbridge's defences have both its good and bad points," Randyll Tarly explained to the war council of the Reach, which assembled within Mace Tyrell's tent. Inside the tent was a model layout of the city made in clay, laid out for all to see. The full martial might of the Reach was present within the room.

Randyll Tarly, Leyton Hightower, Baelor Hightower, Mathis Rowan, Aerys Oakheart, Alester Florent, Mace Tyrell, almost all of the main generals save for Paxter Redwyne, who was commanding the fleet of the Reach and waging a defensive battle against the Ironborn in the Shield Islands were present in the room as Tarly began to explain his plan of attack. The Army of the Reach had finally reached the outskirts of Bitterbridge and had laid camp after which Mace had called a war council to discuss the impending attack on the city.

Taking a wooden cane and using it as a pointer, Tarly pointed to the walls and gates of Bitterbridge. "The bad news is that the gates of the city are very sturdy and will be hard to break through. So, they won't be broken down quite easily. The good news is that the walls of the city are not that high, and we will be able to reach the top of the walls with just our ladders."

"So, it's going to come down to a melee fight on top of the walls, eh?" Mathis Rowan asked, even as his keen eyes looked at the layout of the city looking and ascertaining for any sort of weaknesses.

"But isn't that what an offensive siege battle boils down to? It's not like we can't handle it anyway," Alester Florent spoke out, to which there were guarded nods amongst the other commanders in the room.

"The problem is not the city itself," came the voice of Leyton Hightower, who was also watching it in a pensive mood.

"The problem is the fact that the formidable Lannister Army in command of the city has nothing to distract them during the battle. Generally, in a siege, the defenders are usually forced to divide their attentions between repelling the invaders and maintaining the morale of the citizenry within. Due to the deeds they have committed while taking the city, the cursed Lannister's have no such needs weighing them down, allowing them to fully commit to the defence of the city, which is problematic for us," Leyton concluded, as he looked at Randyll, who nodded in agreement.

"Aye," Randyll replied, "As we know, we will be attacking the enemies from lower ground. In such a situation, the advantage always lies with those on the higher ground. In such a case, it is always a battle of uneven odds, namely five-to-one. For every single soldier of theirs that we kill, we will lose five of ours. With the calibre of the Lannister army facing us, that odds rise to ten-to-one. We will kill one of theirs for ten of ours. And that's the reason why we have mobilized the most of our men. Even then, the mechanics of siege war being as such, of every ten men that die, three will not even reach the top of the wall. It is the basic cost of such a war. At the very least, nearly three to four thousand of our men will die in just the attempt to scale the walls, regardless of the fact that they will not even see the top of it let alone cross blades with our enemies. This is an unavoidable toll in blood that must be paid."

"Agreed," rumbled Alester Florent, "And one which we will extract with interest from the cursed Lannister's," he roared, even as others pounded their fists on the table in the assent.

"The problem is not the cost of blood, it is the aftermath that worries me," opined old Lord Hightower, with creases marring his brow as he looked at the layout of the city.

"What we are seeing is a double-edged trap," he continued, "While we are invested in the siege, there is a real possibility of the army of the rebellion attacking us in our flanks. It is like a bear trap. If we focus completely on the siege, we will be vulnerable when the forces of the Rebellion attack us from the rear. And if we divest ourselves from the siege to respond to them, then that opens the path for the Lannister army to sally out from the city and attack us. We will be grinded down like grains of wheat caught between both ends of a miller's stone."

"I agree," opined Mathis Rowan, who looked at the layout of the forces. "In a sense, our huge manpower has become our greatest liability. If we invest the entire army in the siege, we can break through, but that leaves us vulnerable in the flanks. If we commit lesser numbers, we may weather the assault on our flanks that is sure to come, but the siege will fail as we will not be able to break through. We are starved for time, My Lords," he continued, even as he pointed to the board.

"We must break through the city as soon as possible, because make no mistake, Robert Baratheon and Eddard Stark will come for us. It is incumbent upon us to preserve as much of our fighting strength as possible. The bulk of the experienced soldiery of the Reach is currently with us. Their loss will be an irreplaceable damage to our might. To train new levies to gain this kind of experience again will take the work of a generation, something which we do not have," Rowan concluded, while the soldiers in the room grimaced.

"They may be cruel bastards, but those Lannister's are no idiots," Alester growled in anger, while others scowled at his words.

Suddenly, they were all interrupted when Mace Tyrell's squire, Horas Redwyne, appeared in the room.

"Yes, Horas, what is it?" Mace asked his squire, who was also his nephew, as to what had happened.

"We have word from our scouts that they have run into Dornish outriders near the border of Bitterbridge!" the boy replied breathlessly, as everyone sprang to their feet in alarm.

" **WHAT!?"**

" **THE DORNISH! HERE?"**

" **WHAT THE HELL?"**

" **AREN'T THEY SUPPOSED TO BE AT STARPIKE?"**

"Lord Tarly! Send out your men at once to find out what is going on!" Mace thundered, as he began to pace around. Randyll nodded curtly and walked out of the tent immediately.

"Are the Dornish attacking Bitterbridge?"

"Impossible! The Prince of Dorne is waiting for us at Starpike! He cannot be here!"

"Does he know that we are here?"

Multiple voices began to clamour about, when suddenly a deep gong sounded in the room. As one, all turned around to find Leyton Hightower banging his sword against a shield at the corner of the tent.

"It behoves us not to panic like flailing children!" his words were sharp and biting, and everyone else sobered down.

"We need to get in touch with whoever is in command of those Dornish men, and find out their intentions! We are currently in a truce with Dorne as our Lord has agreed to a parley with their Prince. We cannot break it by jumping to rash conclusions. We have already crossed blades with Quentyn Martell once and lost hideously. We must not repeat that mistake by overeager actions and impulsive behaviour!" he thundered, while others became silent at his chastening words.

"Let us take a break for now, My Friends! Once Lord Tarly returns with news we can decide upon the next course of action," Mace spoke out jovially, as everyone nodded and began to make their way out. From the corner, his father-in-law gave a curt nod of appreciation. Say what one could about Mace Tyrell, the Lord of Highgarden was unrivalled in putting people at ease and smoothening out ruffled feathers.

* * *

Four hours later, Randyll Tarly returned to camp with a group of Dornish soldiers, and amongst them was one very distinguished individual. Lord Anders Yronwood of Dorne.

Tarly had sent a runner ahead and apprised Mace that the commander of the Dornish Army wished to speak with Mace Tyrell personally to let them know of their intentions. Mace had taken the news with aplomb and with his usual efficiency in such matters, had laid out a great feast in such short notice.

Soon, as the party arrived and dismounted, Randyll led Yronwood to the head of the receiving delegation and made the introductions.

"Lord Tyrell, please allow me to introduce to you the commander of the Dornish Army, Lord Anders Yronwood, Warden of the Stoneway, and Lord of House Yronwood."

Mace was taken aback, he had expected to find a minor Lord of Dorne, not the most powerful bannerman sworn to House Martell itself. But he recovered quickly and put on a cheerful face and moved ahead to greet the man.

"Lord Yronwood! I am surprised to see someone of your stature at the head of some scouts! I was of the opinion that you were by the side of Prince Quentyn himself!" he greeted the man, even as Lord Yronwood bowed his head in acknowledgment.

"Come, please sit!" Mace Tyrell, ever the gracious host, led Yronwood to the seat of honour at the table and let him sit.

After basic refreshments were partaken, he got down to business, "Lord Yronwood, I was of the impression that Prince Quentyn would offer us no further hostilities until I parleyed with him! And yet now, we see the Dornish host near us! What are we to make of this?" he asked with a polite but firm tone, while Anders Yronwood acknowledged his points with a small nod.

Knowing that his next words could make or break the relationship with the Reach, Anders Yronwood mustered all the dignity and grace he could and replied, "Lord Tyrell, I can only inform you that Prince Quentyn Martell intends to wage total war upon House Lannister and to that effect has decided to attack Bitterbridge with the full might of Dorne. It is by no means intended as a slight to the Reach or to House Tyrell, but he will not be dissuaded on this, nor will the entirety of Dorne. Simply put, the very reason for which Dorne has entered the war is currently behind the walls of Bitterbridge and there is no Dornishman dead or alive who will yield on this," he admitted, while Mace reddened at hearing the words, even as the other lords of the Reach considered them.

"Lord Yronwood," it was old Lord Hightower who interjected first, "Forgive me, but I was under the impression that Quentyn Martell's target was Tywin Lannister, and as far as I know, the old lion still resides in Kings Landing. I fail to see the reason for such fervour from your prince considering that Tywin Lannister is absent and is not commanding the Lannister army within the city?" he asked with a raised eyebrow even as he silently made signs to Mace to quiet down for the moment.

After a moment, Lord Yronwood dipped his head acknowledging the point, "You are indeed correct, Lord Hightower, however, I must point out that although Lord Tywin Lannister is indeed one of the targets for our Prince, he is not the main target of his ire," he replied back, while everyone was taken aback.

"Not the main target?" Alester Florent asked nonplussed, while the others also showed signs of curiosity on their faces.

"We have irrefutable evidence," Yronwood continued, "that the mongrels, Gregor Clegane and Amory Lorch are currently ensconced within Bitterbridge as part of the Lannister Army," he continued, even as every man of the Reach present, jerked back in shock as if they were branded by a hot iron.

"Yes," Yronwood continued, "I see that you all recognize the import of these names," he continued, "Know this, My Lords, to gain his vengeance against these two men, there are no limits which our prince will not break, there is no boundaries that he will not cross, there is no action that he will not hesitate to undertake, as long as he can claim their heads. For this goal, he is prepared to fight the entire world if necessary! Their crimes against House Martell and Dorne are as such, and there is no Dornishman alive who will not lend his aid in this goal! Certainly, if the crimes those two worms committed in Kings Landing had been conducted against members of your house, then your honour and dignity would have demanded no less as that of my prince, Lord Tyrell," he finished in a guttural growl and pounded his fist on the table to emphasize his point.

"Indeed," Mace Tyrell sighed heavily, even as he recognized that he now stood on a very slippery slope, and he knew within the depths of his soul that standing against Quentyn Martell at this juncture could very well herald the end of the Reach itself.

His thoughts were interrupted as Randyll Tarly spoke out, "Lord Yronwood, you mentioned the full might of Dorne is now descending upon Bitterbridge. How many men is Prince Quentyn bringing to bear upon Bitterbridge? And who are his commanders for this battle?"

Lord Yronwood frowned, but he answered nonetheless, "Every able-bodied commander of Dorne rides with the Prince, who commands a host of nearly forty thousand men," here, all the men of the Reach paused as the numbers sunk into their minds.

" **Nearly three times the men he brought to bear upon the field of Starpike then,** " Leyton Hightower spoke out with a sigh, to which Yronwood nodded before continuing, " _Though the actual task of subduing Clegane and Lorch falls to Ser Arthur Dayne and Ser Barristan Selmy respectively, if my guess is right,_ " he concluded while a few gasps emanated from the men around the table, while the eyes of Tarly and Hightower narrowed.

" _The Sword of the Morning rides with the Dornish host? And Ser Barristan as well?_ " Mace asked with no little amount of shock as well, to which Yronwood nodded with a grim smile. A ripple of unease went through all the Lords of the Reach at that comment. To them it appeared as if Quentyn Martell was leaving no holds barred for this contest and it greatly unsettled them all.

After a few moments, Mace spoke out, "You have given us much to think about, Lord Yronwood. Kindly step out of the tent for a few moments so that I may confer with my fellow Lords about our next course of action. I ask for your forbearance on this matter," he concluded, to which Yronwood nodded, "It is your right, Lord Tyrell."

With a curt bow, the Dornish general stepped out, while Mace sighed in relief and turned to his vassals.

"Suggestions?" he asked quietly, while all his fellow Lords seemed rather despondent and unwilling to answer.

After a moment, Randyll Tarly spoke out, "We wait for the Prince of Dorne to arrive. Speaking with his second is useless. For any sort of accord to be reached, it is necessary for both sides to have their leaders present."

Leyton Hightower nodded in agreement, "Yes, that is a prudent course of action. Prince Quentyn will arrive within a few hours. Then we can parley with him and see how the wind blows," his father-in-law spoke out while Mace grimaced.

"And again, allow him to set the tone and pace between our interactions? I agree that after Starpike it was incumbent upon me to go and meet with him as he was the victor of the battle! But this is different, he has no stake in Bitterbridge! Bitterbridge is a stain on our honour and it is our responsibility to deal with it!" Mace growled, to some murmurs of approval from few of the hot-headed Lords present.

" _Heavens preserve me from obstinate fools!_ " Leyton whispered to himself, before he rounded up on Mace, "As if you any longer have a choice in that matter! Quentyn Martell has already forced your hand! Or did you forget who exactly is inside that cursed city?! The very reason for very which every living Dornishman is up in arms against the very Rebellion is now within their reach! Do you really think they will give a damn about your wounded pride when their most sought-after prize is within their reach? We either join forces with the Dornish and wipe out the Lannister's or this will turn into a three-way battle which benefits none of us but only the Rebellion! Robert Baratheon will happily sacrifice the Lannister's if it means that all three of us exhaust ourselves against each other and then he can easily wipe out the remnants of this clash at his leisure! I don't know about Dorne, but the Reach will end up as the biggest loser in such a debacle! I for one do not desire to see such a thing happen!" the old man pounded his fist on the table and glared at everyone as if daring them to counter his arguments. No one did.

After a few moments of sullen silence, Mace pounded his fist in a fit of sullen pique, "I did not want to admit it, but gods damnit, you are right! I hate the fact that I have been forced into such a corner but I will not allow the Reach to suffer anymore! All right," he huffed, even as he let out a deep breath, "We will do as you say, Lord Hightower," he added formally, while most of the Lords looked at their liege lord in surprise and in some cases disguised relief.

"In the meantime," Old Hightower continued, "Let us make best use of the situation at hand. Anders Yronwood is known far and wide as a brilliant commander. For Quentyn Martell of all people to have chosen him as the commander of the Dornish vanguard means he must have no little amount of skill! As we share the same goal, let us propose to have him and his men join the efforts of Lord Tarly in taking control of the surroundings of Bitterbridge. The level of co-operation they will provide will allow us to judge the truthfulness of their actions. Quentyn Martell is not the only one who has a right to manipulate others to serve his needs! We can and will do the same to him and his people as well," he proposed, even as he looked at everyone for approval.

After a moment, all the commanders present gave their assent by thumping the table in front of them by their hands one after the other, and finally Mace Tyrell nodded his head in agreement.

"Then we are agreed on this course of action," Mace nodded in agreement, "Lord Tarly, if you will kindly escort Lord Yronwood back in here?" he asked after a moment's pause, to which the stern Lord of Hornhill nodded in agreement and walked out.

Unknown to them all that time, their collective decisions had just laid the foundation of a world-changing event.

* * *

 **Author's note:** Finally managed to scrap some time to put together this chapter! Apologies for the late update!


	26. Battle of Bitterrbridge - Day I

_Much speculation remains to this date about the so called 'Talk in the tent' at the battlefield of Bitterbridge between Quentyn Martell and Mace Tyrell. When he arrived at the head of the main army of Dorne, Quentyn was appraised of the presence of the Tyrell Army at the location by Lord Yronwood, who had returned to inform his liege of the recent developments._

 _It is said that the then Prince of Dorne showed no outward reaction at all to this surprising bit of news, and that he simply nodded in acknowledgment of the changed circumstances and proceeded further. Soon, Quentyn sent Lord Yronwood back to Mace Tyrell to request a formal parley so that they could discuss matters of mutual interest and come to terms._

 _Even though Lady Myriah Martell was the ruler of Dorne, by that time, it was a universally acknowledged fact that the real authority of Dorne had already passed on to her grandson and she was just holding on to her title for the duration of the war, so as to not burden her grandson with additional distractions during the war._

 _Mace Tyrell accepted the offer for parley, and Quentyn Martell made his way into the camp of the Reach soon after. There was no doubt that the young prince cut a dashing figure, and his poise and behaviour made a deep impression on the nobility of the Reach._

 _There, again in contravention to the existing norms, Quentyn requested Mace to speak with him alone, without any advisors on his side and spoke of his intentions to do the same. There was a hue and cry from the assembled Lords of the Reach who protested this breach of decorum, but a stony silence from the Lords of Dorne. When Alester Florent asked Anders Yronwood for the reason as to why the Dornish Lords were not protesting, Lord Yronwood replied that they had no need to do so._

 _In essence, it implied that unlike the Lords of the Reach, the Lords of Dorne trusted their Prince unconditionally and believed in his capabilities. Recognizing the implied message perhaps, Lord Tyrell agreed, much to the consternation of his people._

 _Then, for two hours, the young Prince and the Lord of the Reach sat alone inside a tent, while their retainers waited outside as the two of them spoke with each other. To this day, there exist no records of the words exchanged between the two men, but once the meeting was over, Lord Tyrell emerged outside and announced the terms that had been reached. Dorne and the Reach were now in an alliance till the end of the civil war that was currently raging, and combine their efforts to bring the wars to a swift conclusion. After the end of the wars, a more detailed arrangement would be sought._

 _For the duration of the war, the military might of Dorne and the Reach would join together in a coalition army, and Prince Quentyn Martell would act as the supreme commander of the allied forces. Lord Tyrell would act as its political representative, and the first act of the new coalition was to be the liberation of Bitterbridge._

 _Considering the aftermath of the battle, retroactively, many believed that Mace Tyrell had already bent the knee to Quentyn Martell and had on advice of the Prince, kept that matter secret so as not to affect the mental balance of the men of the Reach fighting the battle. And seeing the benefits that House Tyrell reaped upon the end of the war as well as during the rise of the Southern Kingdom, many doubts persist to date regarding their talks in the tent. Of course, Mace Tyrell later made a great show of pledging his alliance for public consumption once Quentyn Martell formally made a claim to the Crownlands in the aftermath of the battle where he declared his intention to crown himself the King of Southern Westeros._

 _To his dying breath, Mace Tyrell never revealed what had exactly been discussed in the tent, and Quentyn Martell of course never spoke of it, ever. Later on, a great friendship developed between the older Lord of the Reach and the young Dornish Prince, which would lead to great stability and prosperity for the Southern Kingdom._

 _Excerpts from 'The Rise of the Southern Kingdom' by Archmaester Ebrose._

* * *

 **Bitterbridge,**

* * *

The urgent pounding on the doors of his room woke up Tygett Lannister from his slumber. Grumbling, he made his way to the door and opened it, only to reveal the worried faces of Philip Plumm and Andros Brax.

"What is it?" he immediately became alert as he looked at the worried faces of two of his commanders as they entered quickly.

"We have not received any reports from any of the lookout towers for quite some time!" Plumm exclaimed while Brax nodded in agreement.

"From how long?" Tygett asked without preamble even though he knew he would not like the answer.

"For six hours," was the reply. "As per your orders, the towers were to report on any movements on part of our enemies or lack thereof, regardless, for every five hours. Six hours ago, when we failed to receive a report from any of the lookout towers, we sent a company to each of them to investigate. They have not reported back either."

"None of the towers have reported back?" he asked with a feeling of trepidation, to which both men nodded.

"Should we send another patrol?" Lord Plumm asked hesitantly, to which Tygett shook his head.

"Don't bother, they are all dead already. For all the lookout towers to cease reporting at the same time means only one thing, our enemies are here and are seeking to isolate us! Wake up the army, and have the walls and towers manned immediately. Close all the gates to the city, pull up the drawbridges and have our archers take positions on the walls. Disperse the food stocks from the granaries to the pre-marked locations. We have very little time to lose," he ordered quickly, to which the two men nodded in agreement and left.

Twenty minutes later, drums began to pound inside Bitterbridge rousing the Lannister Army to the living world from the dream world.

* * *

On the other side, four miles away from the walls of Bitterbridge, atop a hill opposing the city, Mace Tyrell and Quentyn Martell had called for a joint summit of all the main generals of the two armies.

The first one to arrive was a young man, nearly twenty-one years old, and he was seating upon one of the ten stools that were set in a semi-circular formation in front of two chairs on the opposing side. He was a handsome man, possessing a clean-shaven face with an aquiline nose, high cheekbones, dark purple eyes, and a strong jaw. He had collar-length thick silver hair, divided by a streak of midnight black and exuded a mysterious aura.

Soon, from the opposing side, another man appeared. He was of a towering personality, with an imposing presence. Tall, with a keen look upon his face, with a head nearly balding, and wearing a tall Valyrian broadsword, he cut an imposing figure. "Oh, it seems someone actually has arrived before me?" he asked as he looked at the young man, who sat there without showing any emotions on his face.

"Ser Gerold Dayne, from Starfall, one of the commanders of the Dornish Army," the young man introduced himself, to which the other man seemed surprised.

"Hmm, you are pretty young, aren't you? I am Randyll Tarly, the Lord of Hornhill and the main general of the Army of the Reach," Randyll Tarly introduced himself. His name elicited a reaction in the rather apathetic looking young man, who gave a curt nod of acknowledgment.

"So, why are you sitting in the middle of this setup?" Tarly asked curiously, to which Gerold replied back, "Nothing particular, first come first served, that is all."

"Indeed," Randyll mused, as he too sat down. Soon, they could see other figures coming up as well. The next to approach was Archibald Yronwood. Archibald was six-and-a-half-feet tall, broad of shoulder and huge of belly, and towered over most of the people present.

"Well, it has been some time since I saw someone more physically imposing than myself," Tarly mused, while Archibald came and sat down next to Gerold. Similarly, others too came and sat down on the chairs. In short, there were five commanders from the Reach, and five from Dorne. Some were known to all, and some were not.

Soon, everyone could make out the figures of Quentyn Martell and Mace Tyrell making their way forward.

"It appears that everyone has arrived, Lord Tyrell," Quentyn spoke out, to which Mace nodded with a rather jovial expression on his face.

"Before we begin, I would like everyone present to introduce themselves, so that all of you may know whom you will all be working alongside with, to prevent any misunderstandings and doubts," Quentyn spoke out, to which there were guarded nods all along.

One by one, all the commanders present stood up and announced their names, after which they sat down again.

" _Anders Yronwood,"_

" _Archibald Yronwood,"_

" _Gerold Dayne,"_

" _Trebor Jordayne,"_

" _Harmen Uller,"_

" _Randyll Tarly,"_

" _Alester Florent,"_

" _Baelor Hightower,"_

" _Aerys Oakheart,"_

" _Mathis Rowan,"_

"And with this, our line-up for this battle is complete," Mace Tyrell nodded in agreement, as he too sat down.

"I see that all of you are here," Quentyn spoke without any preamble, "As agreed between Lord Tyrell and I, for the duration of this war, we will all fight as one, and the coalition of Dorne and the Reach will work together to achieve our shared aims," he continued, to which there were guarded nods from everyone.

"It was agreed that there would be no hierarchy between the two armies, and that both would be of equal rank to each other. However," here he paused, "It is essential that we have a figure who exists to oversee all our forces and bind them together."

"That is indeed a prudent course of action," Alester Florent agreed and voiced his opinion, as did everyone else using similar words.

"So, it will be Lord Tyrell, then?" Gerold Dayne asked in his cold tone, to which everyone looked shocked.

"Indeed, Gerold, it is as you say, the overall commander for our coalition during the battle for Bitterbridge will be Lord Tyrell," Quentyn replied back, pleased that the young Dayne had picked that up so quickly. His words however elicited deep shock amongst most of the commanders present, save for Randyll Tarly and Anders Yronwood.

" **WHA -** ," exclaimed Alester Florent who stood up in shock, "Is it not you, Prince Quentyn?"

"Don't worry, Alester," Mace spoke, and it was clear to everyone that he and Quentyn had discussed all this beforehand. "The one directing this war will still be Prince Quentyn, who will serve as the supreme commander as well as the strategical adviser of the combined armies. My job will be to oversee everything and ensure that no one acts out."

"As discussed, this is a battle for Bitterbridge," Quentyn interjected. "Simply put, my lords, this is something that affects the Reach directly, and therefore it is necessary that this victory comes under the command of an army under the overall command of the Lord of the Reach. Nothing less would suffice, and for an army not commanded by the Lord of the Reach to retake Bitterbridge would tarnish the honour of the Reach for all time in the eyes of the world," he concluded, while Mace nodded stiffly.

"Do you still find this unsatisfactory?" he asked Alester, who chuckled and stood up joyously, "Why should I be, Prince Quentyn? There does not exist a more magnificent line-up than this! I knew it, joining this coalition was no mistake!"

"Good, now we are in business," Randyll nodded in agreement.

"Next will be the battleplan, Prince Quentyn …," Mace looked at Quentyn who nodded in agreement and stood up.

"I will now explain our strategy for attacking Bitterbridge."

* * *

 **The walls of Bitterbridge,**

* * *

The soldiers on top of the walls of Bitterbridge were alert and on the lookout for the inevitable attack that they were about to face. The news of the missing reports from the lookout towers had already spread throughout the Lannister Army like wildfire, and the soldiers all knew in their hearts that their enemies would come for them without fail.

Soon, the lookouts began to notice large trails of dust rising up to the sky, and a loud rumbling sound could be heard. Few even felt minor tremors as if the land itself was shaking. And then, across the horizon the first of the thousands of the enemy banners could be seen. A huge cry went up.

" **LOOK! THEY ARE HERE!"**

" **T-THERE'S SO MANY OF THEM!"**

" **HEAVENS! HOW LONG DOES THAT LINE STRETCH FOR!"**

" **THAT'S EASILY MORE THAN A 100,000 MEN!"**

Then, a different cry could be heard.

" **DORNE! THERE ARE DORNISH BANNERS AMONGST THE REACH ARMY!"**

" **HOUSE MARTELL'S BANNER IS PRESENT!"**

" **HOUSE TYRELL IS THERE AS WELL!"**

Immediately, the commanders of the Lannister Army rushed to the walls to see the truth for themselves. They could see the huge army come near the city and take its positions all across their view.

"So, it is as we feared," Lord Brax spoke out in a tremulous tone as he clenched his fists.

" **Yes,"** Lord Plumm replied, "The Reach and Dorne have allied with each other!"

"If that is the case, then we are facing the worst possible scenario. Their commander in this scenario will undoubtedly be…," Lord Westerling spoke out only to pause, as he noticed the solitary figure of a single rider coming forward. A young boy atop a destrier coming forward and looking up at them without an ounce of fear.

"Quentyn Martell," Tygett Lannister hissed in rage as he looked at his enemy standing ahead of them, bold as brass, without a hint of fear.

Meanwhile, the ordinary soldiers of the Lannister Army were surprised to see a sole rider coming out to face them all.

" _There-there's a guy on a horse coming over!"_

" _Really!?"_

" _Is he mad? Coming over all alone!"_

Quentyn rode as far as he could, staying just beyond the range of the archers on the wall and spoke out in his loudest tone, "I AM PRINCE QUENTYN MARTELL OF DORNE!"

His proclamation set off a sheer frenzy of panic amongst the Lannister soldiers. The Lannister Army which had been expecting an assault by the weaklings of the Reach, now found themselves facing off against the new terror of Westeros. The aftermath of the battle of Starpike had spread far and wide.

" _Qu-Quentyn Martell!?_

" _Th-That's him!"_

" _What the hell is he doing here with the Reach?"_

Heedless of the furore he had caused, Quentyn went on, "I HAVE AN ANNOUNCEMENT FOR THE SOLDIERS OF THE LANNISTER ARMY! UNDER THE COMMANDS OF THE CURSED HOUSE OF LANNISTER, YOU HAVE ALL COMMITTED HEINOUS CRIMES AGAINST HUMANITY ITSELF! HOWEVER, IF YOU BELIEVE THAT IT IS POSSIBLE TO DEFEAT US WITH RECKLESS VALOUR ALONE, YOU ARE SEVERELY MISTAKEN!" he roared out, as both armies watched and heard, spellbound with shock and awe.

"YOU HAVE SEALED YOURSELVES INTO A CITY WITHOUT A WAY OUT! AND SURROUNDING YOU IS AN ARMY OF 120,000 ELITE SOLDIERS FROM BOTH THE REACH AND DORNE! YOU DO NOT HAVE EVEN THE SLIGHTEST CHANCE OF WINNING! IN WHICH CASE, YOU SHOULD NOT EFFORTLESSLY SACRIFICE YOUR LIVES IN THE NAME OF A HOPELESS BATTLE! SURRENDER, ARMY OF THE WEST, AND NOT A SINGLE ONE OF YOU SHALL BE KILLED! I GIVE YOU MY WORD! THE CRIMES THAT YOU DID, YOU DID UPON THE ORDERS OF YOUR LORDS! HAND OVER TYGETT LANNISTER AND HIS COMPANIONS, AND YOUR LIVES SHALL BE SPARED! DO NOT WASTE YOUR LIVES TRYING TO PROTECT THOSE WHO WILL NOT EVEN LIFT A FINGER TRYING TO SAVE YOU IF THE SITUATIONS WERE REVERSED!" he roared out as a hushed silence fell all over.

"Oi, Oi, is he serious?" Baelor Hightower asked from atop his horse as he looked at the Prince of Dorne in shock.

"Isn't the atmosphere kind of weird?" Aerys Oakheart asked, to which Gerold Dayne shook his head.

"No, what he is doing, is sowing the seeds of fear and doubt in their minds. Basically, it is the fear of Tywin Lannister and his wrath that drives those men," Gerold explained to his fellow commanders. "The only thing that can surpass it is the fear of death. Soon, the battle will start, but that fear will eat away at the minds of those soldiers, gnawing away at their morale, and sapping their strength. When the situation will go bad for them, and it will, they will remember the Prince's offer, and turn on their own Lords and hand them over to us, to escape death. At least, that is what the Prince is hoping for," he concluded with a soft chuckle.

"Hah," came a bombastic voice, "Not unless we crack open the gates and slaughter all those shits first," Alester Florent spoke out with a bloodthirsty grin on his face, while the others chuckled.

As Quentyn waited for his answer, he got it in the form of an arrow which came and thudded in front of him on the ground. Soon, a huge roar of defiance erupted from the soldiers atop the walls, even as he looked up and noticed the man who had shot the arrow. It was Tygett Lannister.

"THAT IS ENOUGH OF YOUR STUPID PRATTLING, BRAT! NO ONE'S GOING TO LISTEN TO YOU! WHAT KIND OF A RETARD COMES OUT AND BEGS THE ENEMY TO SURRENDER? ELITES, MY ASS! IF THOSE COCKSUCKING CUNTS OF THE REACH ARE YOUR ELITES, THEN I AM A FUCKING EUNUCH! DON'T THINK THAT A SINGLE VICTORY OVER THOSE WEAKLINGS GRANTS YOU THE RIGHT TO DICTATE TERMS TO US! GO BACK AND HIDE BEHIND THE SKIRTS OF YOUR AUNT! OOPS! SHE IS NO LONGER ALIVE IS SHE!? HAHAHA! REMEMBER HER FATE, BRAT! THAT IS WHAT AWAITS EVERY SINGLE ONE OF YOU WORTHLESS SHITS IN THE HOUSE OF WHORELINGS KNOWN AS MARTELL! NOW GET OUT OF HERE AND SEND FORTH A REAL MAN TO DO BATTLE!" Tygett roared back, while Quentyn glared at him while his fists tightened. After a moment, he sighed, and reared his horse back.

As he approached the main camp, he looked at Oberyn and nodded, "HE IS NOT ALLOWED TO DIE TILL THE END! CAPTURE HIM AND BRING HIM BEFORE ME!"

Oberyn just nodded in agreement. No more words needed to be said.

"It would seem that we can start the battle now," Randyll Tarly spoke out, to which Quentyn nodded.

"Very well, go forth, General Tarly! Carve the name of Bitterbridge into history as the "City of Tragedy".

Soon, the preparations were complete. Out of the 120,000 men, Quentyn selected 80,000 to attack the city, while 40,000 were kept as reserve. Furthermore, the 80,000 were divided into four groups of 20,000 each and were assigned the responsibility to attack from each of the four directions.

For the North, it was Randyll Tarly and Archibald Yronwood in command.

For the West, it was Alester Florent and Baelor Hightower.

For the South, it was Gerold Dayne and Aerys Oakheart.

For the East, and the main entrance of the city, it was Anders Yronwood and Mathis Rowan.

To the great shock of everyone, Quentyn allowed Oberyn Martell, Barristan Selmy and Arthur Dayne of all people to act as ordinary foot soldiers and participate directly in the assault instead of commanding.

Oberyn was assigned to the West, Barristan to the North, and Arthur Dayne to the South.

Then, it began.

* * *

 **West Wall,**

* * *

" _Here they come!_ " roared Philip Plumm as a wall of archers advanced forward, hiding behind huge tower shields. Firing volleys of arrows as they made their way forward.

A truly humongous number of arrows arched through the air and fell upon the men guarding the wall.

" _Counter volley, now!_ " Plumm roared as their own archers tried to retaliate.

" _Keep shooting! Do not allow them to near the wall! No matter what!_ "

The Lannister archers feverishly shot their arrows at the enemies, despite suffering a bit of casualties from the volley fired by the attackers.

On the ground, Alester Florent was in his element.

" _Straight ahead! Concentrate on the area where you can see most of their banners!_ "

" _Hooah!_ "

" _Focus and Fire!_ "

The assault from the archers of the Reach was truly tremendous. The men atop the walls were peppered with many arrows, and there were enormous casualties, as the men were struck in the face, in the eyes, in their arms, their legs, their torso's. It was a relentless assault.

" _Gah!_ "

" _Augh!_ "

" _Damn it!_ "

" _Curses!_ "

" **Do not falter! This is what it means to fight for your lives! If you lose the will to fight, then you will lose your life! Remember who you are fighting and know that you will receive no mercy from them. So, show them none!** " Lord Plumm roared, even as the galvanized archers shot back.

* * *

 **North Wall,**

* * *

The assault on the North Wall, by Randyll Tarly was already much ahead than that of the others.

Amongst the continuous onslaught of arrows, the men on top noticed something terrifying approaching the wall.

" _SIEGE LADDERS! THEY ARE BRINGING SIEGE LADDERS AHEAD!"_

" _WHAT THE FUCK! IT IS SO HUGE!"_

" _STOP IT NOW! IF IT LATCHES ON, WE ARE ALL FUCKED!_ **"**

As the men on top of the wall watched, the huge ladder came forth being pulled by some contraption which bent it backwards. As they all watched, the ropes binding the ladder were severed, and the ladder shot up in the air like a rising snake, before gravity reasserted itself and it collapsed right on top of the wall.

" _AH! IT HAS LATCHED ON!"_

" _OH NO! THEY HAVE GAINED A FOOTHOLD!"_

" _THEY ARE CLIMBING UP!"_

" _THREE MORE LADDERS INCOMING!"_

" _FUCK! FUCK! FUCK!_ **"**

" **BE QUIET!"** roared Roland Crakehall, who came forward, in full plate mail swinging his Morningstar in hand.

"The walls of Bitterbridge are not tall! This was already in our calculations! It was always going to come down to a brawl on this place here! But that does not mean, we have to make it easier for those cunts! Shoot the ladders with fire arrows! And bring forth the cauldrons of boiling oil and pitch! Pour it down the ladders!" he ordered as his men raced to obey his commands.

Soon, as his men began to pour down boiling oil and pitch down the walls and onto the men climbing the ladders, screams of a different sort could be heard all around.

But it was not enough. There were too many ladders. Soon, the top of the wall turned into a frantic melee as men tore into each other with abandon and the cries of dying men rent the air.

It was a scene that could be seen all around.

The assault of Bitterbridge had begun.

* * *

Author's note:

Well, We have finally started. This is going to be a wild ride!


	27. Battle of Bitterbridge - Day 1 (Contd)

_The assault on Bitterbridge by the coalition armies of the Reach and Dorne was one of the seminal points in the history of warfare in Westeros. To date, this assault ranks amongst the top 5 battles to have ever been waged in Westerosi history all the way up to the fabled battles of the Long Night and the tragic Field of Fire during Aegon's conquest._

 _The battle lasted all of seven days which saw fierce bloodletting on both sides, both of whom had resolved to fight till the bitter end. At that time, it was hard to determine which side hated the other more. Such was the fervor and rage on both sides that it became impossible even for Quentyn Martell to rein in his men during the final stages of the battle._

 _It must be said that Tygett Lannister held on remarkably well during the initial stages of the siege, considering that he was up against perhaps the greatest military mind to have ever been born in Westeros. It was his rugged determination, his pride and his belief in his superiority of position that enabled him to hold out against overwhelming odds for nearly seven days. To this date, many scholars agree, that had it not been Quentyn Martell who led the assault, Tygett Lannister would have prevailed. But fate, it would seem, had other plans._

 _Nearly half the number of casualties that the coalition suffered occurred on the first day itself, when the coalition army attempted an all-out assault on all four walls simultaneously. By mid-day, Tygett Lannister deployed the raiders of Gregor Clegane as shock troops and used them to destroy any footholds the assaulters gained on any of the walls as soon as they made it to the top. By using the sheer brute strength of the Mountain-that-rides in such a manner, aided by the dogged tenacity of his men, Tygett Lannister actually defeated the assault on the walls of Bitterbridge. Indeed, one could claim that the honors for the first day went to the Lannister's and not the assaulters._

 _By mid-noon, Quentyn Martell called off the assault, and revised his plans which would drastically alter the very foundations of siege warfare for generations to come. At that time, the coalition army, which in future would become the feared 'Grand Army of the South' was not yet renowned for its exceptional strength. But what was noteworthy about it was the godlike speed that it wielded. Swift judgements, swift actions. Unforgiving to stragglers, their speed allowed them to crush their enemies into submission. The Lannister army had set up a formidable defensive line in the city of Bitterbridge. Upon taking stock of the casualties they were receiving, Quentyn Martell swiftly changed his tactics, which involved switching abruptly from forcing the Lannister's to submit to complete annihilation of all enemies._

 _The results changed the very landscape of Westerosi power structures forever._

 **Quentyn Martell attacks Bitterbridge with overwhelming force – From the records of Archmaester Ebrose,**

* * *

 _ **The South Wall,**_

* * *

"Go!" shouted Tygett Lannister as his men fired volleys of arrows at the advancing enemy infantry below the walls. An unimaginable torrent of arrows rained down on the enemy soldiers who hunkered down under the cover of giant tower shields made of iron.

"Counter volley while grouped up! Move ahead!" the commander of the ground forces, Gerold Dayne ordered his men, even as the archers of the coalition army fired their own arrows back at the defenders atop the wall. The air was rife with the cries of the wounded and the dying.

"Here they come!" one of the knights of the west roared out, his tabard identifying him as belonging to House Crakehall.

"KEEP SHOOTING!"

"THE ENEMY ARCHERS ARE NOT RETALIATING FULLY!"

"DON'T GIVE THEM A CHANCE TO GET CLOSER!"

"IT'S STARTING! IT'S STARTING!"

"THEY'RE COMING FOR US!"

The air was filled with the cries of encouragement and occasional twinges of fear-laden crying as men shouted themselves hoarse as the fog of war descended upon them.

This lack of cohesion affected their aim and the arrows they shot were not nearly as effective as they could be. On the other hand, the men of the Reach and the Dorne on the ground below were invigorated with the thought of gaining revenge against the hated Lannister's.

"Straight ahead! Concentrate all your arrows where many of the banners and flags are present!" Aerys Oakheart, the other commander of the group ordered his men, who hastened to obey the command.

"READY!"

"AIM"

"FOCUS FIRE!"

"HOOAHH!

With a roar, the men launched their own volley at the defenders above the walls and a haze of arrows flew upwards from the ground up. They hit their mark and caused severe casualties.

"Shit!"

"Sweet Mother! Save me!"

"Stranger spare me!"

"Shit! Shit! Shit!"

As the line above the wall was about to break, a voice roared out, full of confidence, strength and anger resonating outwards.

"Hold steady! Do not turn away! If you surrender your will to fight, you surrender your right to live! This is what a battle is! This is what a war is!" the voice of Tygett Lannister came out from the tower in the middle of the city, and carried over to the troops on top of the southern wall.

The firm conviction behind the voice reinvigorated the troops, who managed to rally back and began to fire back at the enemies with renewed vigor.

"Nicely done! They're now managing to fire back at the enemy! And the wind is on our side as well! This should aid our archers greatly!" Lord Westerling sighed in relief as he looked at the tower with gratitude.

"Now, we just need to survive this onslaught!" the lord thought with a grim visage, even as he looked at the unending horde of enemies below.

* * *

 _ **The East Wall,**_

* * *

For the East Wall, which also held the main entrance to the city, Quentyn had deputed Anders Yronwood, his best commander along with Mathis Rowan of the Reach to lead the assault.

As expected by Quentyn, Anders Yronwood launched a fierce assault upon the wall. Under the cover of 15,000 archers who kept up a continuously withering hailstorm of arrows upon the wall, 5,000 soldiers advanced upon the wall with ladders and began their assault. The wind was blowing on their side, which greatly aided their archers as well.

As the men reached ahead and began to scale the walls, Yronwood scoffed, "Is this it? This is what Tywin Lannister's feared army is capable of? How simple! Teach the fools of the west the true terror of war!"

On top of the wall, the commander of the troop present, Andros Brax began to panic. "The enemy footholds are increasing! Not good! If this keeps up …,"

Meanwhile in the tower at the middle of the city, Tygett Lannister and his remaining commanders were also watching the battle with trepidation.

"My Lord! We must do something! The cheering of the enemy is getting louder at the Eastern Wall!" Lord Banefort urged Tygett who was watching the battle with an impassive gaze.

"There is no need to worry," Tygett replied curtly. "From the reports I read of the battle of Starpike, it is obvious that Quentyn Martell likes to deal a blow to the morale of his enemies by taking on their most powerful position head on and crushing it! It was how he won the battle by crushing the Tyrell Infantry! But this is not Starpike and I am not Leyton Hightower! I had anticipated that he would unleash his most fierce attack upon the front gate and I have prepared the appropriate countermeasures for the same," he smirked cruelly, while his commanders seemed confused.

"Appropriate countermeasures? What do you mean?" Banefort asked, while Tygett smirked.

"It is because I knew that the boy would attempt this, I had our most powerful soldiers stationed there! The troops that possess the greatest martial might in the Lannister Army," Tygett smirked, even as a loud roar reverberated around the east wall as a group of five hundred men led by a literal giant stormed the wall.

A giant beast of a man, nearly eight-foot-tall, and weighing more than the next four men combined, clad in full plate mail, swinging a broadsword six foot long, and wielding it as a one-handed-one. Gregor Clegane, also known as the-mountain-that-rides, and the personal enforcer of Tywin Lannister's will.

With a roar, Clegane reached the top of the eastern wall, where the enemies had made a foothold and fell upon them like water upon a rock. With a single sweep of his sword, he bifurcated three men in a sweep, and clove their bodies in half, while his pack of raiders similarly fell upon the rest of the attackers.

Within minutes, the situation which had been so dire completely reversed itself and the attacking Reachmen and Dornishmen began a desperate fight to save themselves.

"Whoa! Amazing! They crushed the footholds so easily!"

"Ha-ha! Yeah! That Dornish brat doesn't know who he is messing with!"

"Hurrah!"

Cheers of jubilation rang out on top of the eastern wall as the mountain and his band of raiders fell upon the attackers and wiped them out decisively.

* * *

 _ **Coalition Army Headquarters,**_

* * *

As he observed the battle from his vantage point, Quentyn frowned as his mind rapidly analyzed the ebb and flows of the battle.

He turned immediately to Areo Hotah and ordered curtly, "Order our forces to fall back!"

His command evoked sharp reactions from everyone else.

"What?" Oberyn asked, a second ahead of everybody else, who had risen to their feet in shock with the same question.

Mace Tyrell, Leyton Hightower, Arthur Dayne, Barristan Selmy all looked nonplussed at the prince who remained poker-faced.

"You ... of all people, are giving up on the assault?" Oberyn asked with his face flushed with a combination of rage and incredulity.

"Don't be asinine! We are just changing tactics," Quentyn quipped back harshly, as he glared at his uncle in irritation. "Order the troops to fall back and summon all the commanders, so that I can share the new battle plans with them. In the meantime, clear the field of all the dead and replace all the wounded with fresh levies from the reserves!"

Soon, messengers raced out from the headquarters to all the four main commanders and conveyed the message, which was first received with incredulity and then resignation. Soon, orders were sent out to the troops which began to pull out in an orderly fashion.

As soon as the enemy soldiers atop the walls realized this, they set out a cheer of jubilation.

* * *

 _ **Atop the walls of Bitterbridge,**_

* * *

"UUOOOH! WE DID IT!"

"WE DID IT!"

"WE DROVE OFF THE MONSTER OF DORNE HIMSELF!"

"NUOOH! YEAH!"

The commanders of the army allowed the men to cheer themselves hoarse though they remained silent. They knew that this was but the prelude. Quentyn Martell was not the type to give up after just a single attempt.

The worst was yet to come. They were sure of it.

* * *

 _ **Coalition Army Headquarters,**_

* * *

"You called off the assault?!" Alester Florent asked Quentyn with a surprised and vexed tone, while Quentyn nodded in agreement.

"Indeed," the prince replied quietly as he sat down at the head of the table and indicated all the commanders to do the same. Many of them removed their helmets and their swords and handed them over to aides who collected them and then walked out of the tent leaving them alone.

"The morale of the Lannister soldiers is much higher than expected. To squander our resources via brute force on just the first day cannot be called a wise decision, hence I called off the attack midway."

"That is certainly true, we have suffered quite a bit," Leyton Hightower, who was in overall command of logistics commented. "We expected fierce resistance, but this is beyond expectations. It is as if those Westlander's no longer care about their lives!" he exclaimed with disbelief lacing his tones.

"If I may," interjected Oberyn, "what are our casualties till now?"

"We are still tallying them, but I believe the commanders on the field have a better grasp on the same," Leyton spoke out, smoothly handing the responsibility to the commanders who grimaced at being put on the spot.

Randyll Tarly spoke out first, "The army assigned to the Northern wall under my command has till now suffered 3,000 casualties out of the 20,000 assigned to us, and I estimate that we have gotten 1,100 or so of their men in return," he concluded grimly, while sharp breaths were taken by everyone.

"Less than half of our losses in return!?" Mace asked aghast as he looked at his best general in shock, who could only nod in agreement.

Alester Florent spoke out next, "From the Western wall, we have lost nearly 2,000 men out of our 20,000, and I estimate that we have gotten 900 to 1,000 of the enemies in return," he concluded, while the sullen atmosphere remained.

Gerold Dayne took over next. "From the Southern Wall, we have lost nearly 1,000 men, and have gotten less than 300 in return. I must add that getting those 300 men in itself was a great feat as the defenders had the advantage of the wind blowing from their side, which gave their archers an unfair advantage in itself," he concluded grimly, as by now, the grimness of the situation began to settle in.

Finally, Anders Yronwood spoke up. "As you all know, we were assigned the Eastern Wall, which doubles as the main entrance to the city. Adding to this, we had the advantage of the wind on our side, which aided our archers greatly, and we made considerable advances and gained a foothold on top of the walls. I estimate that we took nearly 6,000 heads of the defenders. But at noon, Tygett deployed his reserves and used Gregor Clegane and his raiders as shock troops and we were overwhelmed. By the time we managed to retreat, we had lost nearly 9,000 men," he concluded, while gasps were heard from the surrounding group.

"Hmm, as I expected. Tygett is keeping him in reserve and using him to disrupt any advantage we gain, by sending him to whichever wall is under the greatest threat. A sound strategy, and I had expected this. Still, we have taken the heads of nearly 8,000 enemies, but we have lost 15,000 of our own in return. Of our overall strength of 120,000 we are now down to 105,000. While the enemy is down to 32,000 from 40,000. We cannot keep up this brutal pace of battle. We need to remember that Robert Baratheon and Eddard Stark will soon be upon us before long," he finished, even as he got up and began to pace while the others remained seated.

"So, you intend to minimize our losses," observed Leyton, to which Quentyn nodded.

"One city is not worth breaking the balance of your army over. There are many ways to skin a fruit so to speak," he continued, while the others gave guarded nods.

"While we are suffering casualties, you must remember that we are facing hardened soldiers who cannot be defeated without paying a toll in blood," he concluded.

"So, what do you propose?" asked Alester with a curious tone.

"Even if their morale is high, these men are still bound by physical limitations. We will take advantage of that. We will crush them, spiritually and mentally before we physically end them. We must change our posture to offensive from defensive. We have been conducting this siege with the intent to force their surrender. _**No more. We now aim to kill every single soldier of the Westerlands inside that city**._" Quentyn declared, while everybody shivered as they felt a deep chill at his words.

"We will now conquer Bitterbridge using only half our strength!" he declared with a flourish as he made a motion with his hand as if he was cutting something in half.

 _"Half!?"_

 _"Prince Quentyn!"_

 _"Wait, just how in the world …,"_

"Firstly, regarding our army, from the 80,000 we had set aside for the assault, we have lost nearly 15,000 men, so we are left with 65,000. Of those 65,000, keep 5,000 aside as a tactical reserve, and divide the army of 60,000 into two armies of 30,000, with a force of 7,500 dedicated to assaulting each wall. The first half of 30,000 will attack during the day, and in the night, the second batch of 30,000 will continue the assault without any respite, while the first half rests. Then at daybreak, the first half will take over again, while the second half which was attacking during the night rests. Each half will rotate their duties continuously without giving the enemies a chance to rest or recover. This way we will grind their resilience down until they can no longer battle, and that is when we will wipe them out!"

The generals in the room were left dumbstruck with sheer amazement at the brilliant strategy laid out, while they considered its implications. To their recollection, no siege in the history of warfare had ever been conducted in such a manner. The implications were mind-boggling. The creative genius behind the idea astounded them, even as smiles creeped up on their faces against their will, while Alester Florent actually broke out into joyous laughter imagining the oncoming plight of the Lannister's.

"Are we doing this first thing tomorrow morning?" Gerold Dayne asked carefully, to which Quentyn shook his head.

 **"No, we are doing it now."**

* * *

 _ **Above the walls of Bitterbridge, Day 1, Nighttime,**_

* * *

The sentries atop the wall, who were quietly resting atop the walls were jarred out of their reserve, when they heard a loud din of drums and trumpets sounding out loud. Then, the horizon literally lit up with thousands of torches giving the indication of a swarm of fireflies gathering on the horizon. Soon, they could feel the ground shaking and trembling at the sounds of thousands of men and horses racing forward.

The alarm went out even as the sounds of ringing bells and gongs, accompanied by drums and trumpets roused all the sleeping Lannister soldiers awake immediately.

 _"ENEMY ATTACK!"_

 _"WE'RE UNDER ATTACK!"_

 _"WHAT! NOW!?"_

 _"GET BACK INTO YOUR POSITIONS!"_

 _"QUICKLY! EVERYONE TO YOUR POSITIONS!"_

The coalition army had come back with the desire of vengeance burning deep in their hearts once more.

* * *

Author's note:

Well, it has been some time. Sorry for the delay in updates, but real life caught up. Was in vacation, got caught up in my brother's wedding festivities, had a lot of personal stuff to care of, take your pick. I hope I can count on your continued support for this story. Please review and as always, any suggestions on possible improvements are always welcome.


	28. Battle of Bitterbridge - Day 6 (Part 1)

The moon was a ball of ice, bringing forth no cheers – only memories of cold hatreds and past grievances. Thought it was right in the middle of the night, a constant rumble filled the air; the incessant twangs from thousands of bows, some in tandem, some in succession, the collective sound adding to an eerie symphony that at once evoked dread.

For the first time ever, the men of the Westerlands truly realized what true war was. It was disturbing, ruining their senses, contorting the very sight in front of their eyes, and above all, it instilled in them a primal fear. A fear, that perhaps for once it would not be them doing the killing, but others doing the same to them.

Bows sang, horses neighed, arrows whizzed past them without end, and men screamed themselves hoarse, as they hacked each other to death. The night was rife with the screams of the wounded and the dying, and curses for the enemies, and a relentless sound of metal clashing with metal.

* * *

Atop the central tower, Tygett Lannister stood with clenched fists and rigid jaws, as he watched the renewed attack upon his positions by the cursed brat of Dorne. He was in the utterly helpless position of having realized what his enemy was doing, and being completely incapable of stopping it.

Next to him was old Philip Plumm, who stood next to him and was watching the night assault by the alliance forces with a baleful gaze.

"You're right," he addressed Tygett, "Tarly and Yronwood know what they are doing. Now that the brat has given them a free hand …"

Tygett shrugged noncommittal, and said nothing. The two men stood under the large banners of the west hanging at the top of the tower which acted as their headquarters. Across them, in the field, his forces displaying their own banners, Randyll Tarly led his men forward for the fifth straight night assault of the battle. It was clear that unlike Tygett and his men, Tarly's men were arranged in a precise and composed formation, and were diligently moving forward.

On the other hand, discipline within the ranks of the defenders was at an all-time low point. Orders to maintain ranks and to hold positions were more frequently ignored than listened to. Five straight days of continuous battle with nary an hour or two of rest had taken a vicious toll upon the morale and the will of the defenders. Tygett sighed and leaned back on the pillar and closed his eyes for a moment, being completely exhausted _. It had been 4 or was it 5 days since he last slept?_

 _All my family's gold for a single night's rest,_ he thought with a bleary prayer even though he knew it was impossible. Forget a night, half a day, hell, even three hours of rest would do. He would have paid anything to get a reprieve of any sort. He blearily looked around and it pained him to see the condition of his men. There, Tarly was again retreating after another harassing attack by his archers. At this point, it was just like a stray dog coming and pissing on the front door of his home, and him being too weak to even beat it off. As the most recent attack retreated there were no cheers from his forces, most of his men slumped wearily, too tired and dispirited to even smile or cheer.

His armor itched against his skin. His skin was raw in some places, and he had developed rashes due to the armor being stained with his sweat and blood, since he had not removed his armor nor changed his clothes, since the beginning of the battle. Hell, it was a miracle that he was able to take off his breeches to take a piss and shit when time permitted. Not that anyone noticed, they were all in the same situation.

Despite his burning anger, Tygett was forced to give his enemy his due. Quentyn Martell was a uncaring and unfeeling monster, it was plain and simple. Ever since he changed his tactics, the Lannister army was denied rest of any sort. Even during the respite between attacks, his men fired using catapults to keep the defenders from getting any real rest. And it was beginning to take its toll. Soldiers were becoming sluggish in their fighting and their casualties were increasing.

To put it bluntly, this was a vicious and completely inhumane way of conducting war, in which all the established norms and conditions were thrown out of the window with a zealous desire for victory by any means necessary. _**And I thought Tywin was a monster**_ , he chuckled. _A kingdom of weaklings and debauched whoremongers, how wrong you were brother, do you even have any idea of what you have unleashed upon the Westerlands?_

* * *

He looked around and saw that his commanders were in no better shape. A lot of the older bannermen had already collapsed with exhaustion. His second in command Lord Andros Brax approached him staggering like a drunken man.

"Milord, new enemy forces are approaching the wall. Again." he said in resignation, as he pointed out men under the command of Archibald Yronwood rushing ahead to attack them again.

Tygett closed his eyes in despair as the screams started again. He had fought dozens of battles but never had he fought a battle that stretched out this long, nonstop. The continuous and repeatedly steady attacks had leeched the very life and strength out of the Lannister Army with its sheer efficiency. Each lull between battles only served to heighten the dreaded anticipation of the arrival of next attack. This entire battle was a slow and steady torture intended to wear down his army and it was working. They were being bled out by thousands of pin-pricks of uninterrupted attacks.

On the first night, when the attacks first began, Tygett wondered what Quentyn planned to achieve, by keeping half of his army back. Furthermore, the attackers did not seem to try very hard to secure a foothold, and instead they seemed more intent in trying to wound and kill as many of the defenders as possible all over the place, instead of focusing all their strength on one side of the walls. If they had attacked one side of the wall with overwhelming strength they would have broken through. It was only later that he realized his enemy's main intention. Quentyn Martell was forcing the defenders to expend their strength and stamina by forcing them to move around the city in order to defend it. He was forcing them to commit all their reserves in order to prevent themselves from being overrun. That Dornish brat knew that he could not be strong everywhere at the same time, so he had to utilize his reserves to reinforce any threatened area, and once when they were fully committed Quentyn would withdraw, but not before blooding them extensively. It was like being slowly bled to death. His remaining reserves were as exhausted as the rest of the army and it showed by their slowing response to any breakthroughs.

Discipline was suffering as a result. Sentries have been found asleep in their positions. Soldiers only ate haphazardly, preferring to sleep during meal times. They were fighting a losing battle to keep the men alert and rested. Morale was melting away like sand on the beach.

 _Curse him! Curse the damned cur of a snake! Who in the world gives birth to such a hell-spawn anyways?_

* * *

Suddenly, he was dragged out of his stupor as he heard a ragged cheer arise from his men, accompanied by renewed sounds of battle.

 **"REINFORCEMENTS ARE HERE!"**

 **"THE DORNISH ARE RUNNING AWAY!"**

 **"THE REACH ARE RUNNING AWAY AS WELL!"**

 **"WE ARE SAVED! THERE ARE SO MANY OF THEM COMING THROUGH THE WOODS!"**

 **"THE BANNER OF THE STARKS! IT IS THE NORTHERN ARMIES! EDDARD STARK IS HERE!"**

With his heart beating like a drum, hoping against hope, Tygett raced to the parapets of the eastern wall and looked out, only to see the army under Archibald Yronwood's command fleeing to the four corners after being scattered by a ferocious assault from thousands of cavalries which were pouring out from the woods from the eastern side of the pass facing the city. _That was the path leading to Kings Landing!_ _Could it really be?_ With his heart racing, he hurried towards the walls and looked at the assaulting reinforcements. In the pale moonlight, he could somehow make out the Direwolf banners of the Stark's, the flayed men of Bolton and the giants of the Umber's amongst the men assaulting the alliance army.

The first to be hit had been the flanks of the Dornish infantry under the command of Archibald Yronwood who had been scattered by the surprise attack. Unable to withstand the fierce assault, the attackers fled with the reinforcements chasing them relentlessly.

Due to how suddenly everything occurred, all the men on top of the walls were also in a state of confusion.

 _"Lord Brax! We have reinforcements!"_

 _"Lord Westerling! Lord Stark is here!"_

 _"What? We have aid?"_

 _"Are you sure?"_

* * *

Meanwhile, reinvigorated at the sudden fortune, Tygett glanced over the walls and focused his gaze upon the enemy command tent which was in real danger of being overrun. He turned to Lord Plumm "Gather our men! Get all the cavalry forces ready! This is our chance! The enemy is disorganized and their command tent is defenseless! If we attack now, we can end this! _We can kill Quentyn Martell and win the war!_ Prepare and open the gates! We will go out and aid the reinforcements!"

Lord Plumm seemed to be overwhelmed, "Perhaps we should let Lord Stark and his men handle Quentyn Martell! Our people are in no position to sortie out, we can barely stand as it is!"

"And let Stark add another victory to his list! That northern barbarian has had enough victories already. He has already crushed Rhaegar Targaryen himself! I will not let him have the honor of slaying another great general! Besides, House Lannister has too many debts to pay to that accursed brat! Prepare the men!" he barked as he fled down the stairs.

Soon, within an hour, the gates of Bitterbridge opened, and the Lannister cavalry sortied out with great fanfare and raced out towards the headquarters of the enemy camp. After racing for nearly a mile, the Lannister vanguard finally reached the outskirts of the enemy camp, where they noticed the Northern cavalry surrounding the enemy headquarters with scores of corpses of the defenders lying around.

They were greeted with cheers and whistles, and nods of encouragement. The northerners opened up a path for them and allowed them to go ahead. A horseman came forward and bowed. His tabard marked him as a Bolton.

"My Lords, I am a soldier under House Bolton. Lord Stark and Lord Bolton invite you to come and aid in dealing with the prisoner's," the man introduced himself while Tygett nodded in appreciation.

"You lot made good time! I was surprised to see the northern army come to our aid so fast," Tygett asked the man casually, even as he kept his guard up.

"Lord Stark had already placed a force of significant strength to guard the passes leading to the Reach once Kings Landing fell, My Lord. It was a precaution, so that if the Reach were to rebel, we would have an advance vanguard ready. Once we received King Robert's raven four days ago, we rode non-stop to get here as soon as possible," the man replied, while Tygett shook his head in reluctant admiration.

"Well, I won't deny that you came in the nick of time! We were nearly done for! I will speak to my brother and see that the North gets its due! We Lannister's pay our debts!" he smirked as he raced ahead, while the soldier bowed shallowly in thanks.

Soon they reached the middle of the gathering, where a group of men who had dismounted and had surrounded the leaders of the alliance were standing around. The leaders of the Reach and Dorne had been bound securely and were kneeling down on the ground in supplication.

With a vicious grin, Tygett halted his horse and dismounted as well, as he and his men walked forward.

"Well, well, well … how the tables have turned! Not so smart now, are you bra …," Tygett froze, as he looked at what was supposed to be the kneeling form of Quentyn Martell, only to see the burnt face of Sandor Clegane, with his hair dyed red, looking at him and smirking in malice.

" **Ambu** …" before he could even get his warning out, the soldier who had guided him in, whirled around and knocked him flat on his ass with the butt of his sword, as all the northmen surrounding his group drew their weapons and advanced upon him and his men.

" _Tygett Lannister! Oh, how I have wished_ _for this moment! My dear nephew really does spoil me with lavish gifts_ ," a smooth lilting voice came out, whispering, almost snake-like and with a lurch, Tygett sprang back and bared his sword, only to blanch as he came face-to-face with Oberyn Martell himself who was wielding his famous spear.

"Do not disappoint me, Lion of Lannister! Prove to me that a Lion can prevail against a Viper! _If you can, that is_ …," Oberyn snarled as he sprang like a coiled snake at the cornered lion.

* * *

From atop a hilltop from the opposite end, Quentyn observed dispassionately as his trap was sprung and the defenders of Bitterbridge fell for it. Even now, they could hear the desperate screams of the defenders of the city, who had by now lost control of the city. The disguised reinforcements which had entered the city under the guise of saviors had shown their true colors and were now butchering the defenders in the thousands. What the Lannister's had inflicted upon the citizens of Bitterbridge was being inflicted tenfold upon them by the bloodthirsty men of the Reach who were cutting down any Lannister soldier they could find. No quarter was given, and many a man who attempted to surrender found himself cut-down regardless. Few of the westerlander's even futilely attempted to jump down from the walls of the city in a desperate bid to escape only to fall screaming to their deaths ingloriously.

"Your plan worked, Prince Quentyn!" Mace Tyrell spoke out in a hushed whisper of awe as he looked at the systematic destruction being heaped upon the feared and renowned army of the Westerlands, which currently looked more and more as if it were a band of armed mob of unskilled peasants being set upon by a live fire-breathing dragon instead.

"I see it, but I still cannot believe it!" Leyton Hightower whispered as he struggled to acknowledge the scope of what had just occurred.

"How did you know that Tygett Lannister would fall for your trick, My Prince?" Baelor Hightower asked respectfully as all the Reach Commanders as well as the Dornishmen alongside him looked at him with curiosity rife in their eyes.

"All my attempts till this day were for this moment, Ser Baelor," Quentyn spoke out as he led his horse forward with a cantor as everybody followed.

"The true purpose of the combined day and night assault was simply to fatigue and tire the men of the west out. I needed them tired, drained, listless and incapable of deep thought or action. By continuously forcing them to battle without reprieve day and night, I lowered their strength, their stamina and their capacity for thought itself. The human body requires a certain amount of rest to work and perform at optimal capacity. By denying them that rest, I deprived them of any chance to regain their momentum. For five days now, Tygett Lannister has been battling without rest and is tired and angry, and in desperate need of rest, and is incapable of rational thought. He is weakened, his body is wounded and his mind strained, and above all else, he has been trapped in despair, knowing that eventually his defense will fail and he will be killed," Quentyn explained, while everyone who was listening nodded their heads in agreement at the points he raised.

"In this situation, Tygett has been desperately waiting for reinforcements. That's when he suddenly sees the light when we are attacked. He thinks that we have been taken by surprise. We are now defenseless. The tables have turned. Now is his chance to take the head of Quentyn Martell, who is the main cause for all the troubles he and his family are facing till now. For a man who has been trapped in a despairing darkness awaiting only certain death, it is a dazzling light. A small light the size of the eye of a needle in enveloping darkness which will make him dizzy. And furthermore, his pride will not allow others to claim the head of his most hated enemy. Buoyed by the thought of reinforcements, he will throw all caution to the wind and race out to get me. Caution, which he would have ordinarily exercised, had he not been so tired and fatigued for the past few days," Quentyn chuckled, while Mace involuntarily shivered as he looked at the imposing figure of the prince. Leyton Hightower swallowed nervously, and thanked the gods that his idiot son-in-law had done the most intelligent act of his life by siding with this monster given flesh.

"In the end," Quentyn continued, "for all his vaunted capabilities, Tygett Lannister is just an inexperienced idiot who believes in his own legend too much!"

* * *

 **Author's note:** _**A special thanks to Avoc for helping me draft parts of this chapter!**_

Next chapter:

Three duels to the death!

Arthur Dayne finally steps on the field against Gregor Clegane!


	29. Omake: Why Balon is an idiot!

_"Are you daft, brother?" Aeron 'Damphair' Greyjoy to Balon 'Iron King' Greyjoy._

 _"Are you sure you want me to do … this?" Victarion 'Iron Captain' Greyjoy._

 _"Screw you and your dreams, arsehole!" Euron 'Crow's Eye' Greyjoy._

 _"One does not simply sail into Dorne and challenge Quentyn Martell to war! Its seas are guarded by more than just the Redwyne Navy! Those evil bastards are ever vigilant and do not sleep! And 'The Monster of Dorne' is ever watchful for any threats! Not with 10,000 long ships could you do this! This is folly!" Rodrik 'The Reader' Harlaw as he opposed Balon Greyjoy's plans to begin his Rebellion by targeting the Southern Kingdom._

\- _From The follies of Balon Greyjoy, by Archamester Qyburn._

* * *

 _Author's note: Simply a bit of fun, but who knows might develop it in later arcs, if the reader's find it worth doing._

 _Next Chapter will be up by the weekend._


	30. Bitterbridge Day 7: The Lion's Last Roar

_The Battle of Bitterbridge is often known and called as 'The Lion's Last Roar', and it is an apt metaphor for what happened in that ill-fated city during the seventh day of the battle._

 _For six days, Quentyn Martell plotted and schemed and on the late night of the sixth, he unleashed his hordes upon the doomed Lannister's. By employing deceit and trickery on a scale never before seen or recorded in the history of Westeros, the young prince laid low his enemies in the vilest way ever conceived._

 _Had it been any other foe, then perhaps he may have earned the scorn of all high-born in the seven kingdoms for the deceitful manner in which his victory came about, but seeing that his victims were the men sworn to house Lannister, which had by now become the most reviled house in Westeros, thanks in no small part due to the excesses of its cruel and ruthless lord, Tywin, not a single person in the seven kingdoms except Westerners uttered a word of pity for those doomed men._

 _Of the manifold deeds of desperate valor and battles that were fought that night, much is talked about. The duels between Archibald Yronwood and Andros Brax, between Roland Crakehall and Baelor Hightower, between Alester Florent and Quenten Banefort, and many other such noted members of the highborn._

 _But above all else, three duels that took place that night stand above all, not because of the skills of the people involved, but because of the people involved. The first was between Barristan 'The Bold' Selmy, former Kingsguard of Aerys, against Amory Lorch, the murderer of Princess Rhaenys Targaryen. To call it a duel would be an insult, considering that the difference in the skills of the two men were as vast as the distance between the earth and the sky. In the end, Lorch threw down his weapons and begged for mercy and was taken into custody. Unfortunately, as he later found out in the most brutal manner possible, he was looking in the wrong place for any form of mercy that night._

 _The second and perhaps one of the most brutal duels fought in the night was between Prince Oberyn Martell and Tygett Lannister, the commander of the Lannister Army and the brother of Lord Tywin Lannister. The greatest warrior of House Martell against the best in House Lannister. This was the sort of things that songs would be written about. For forty and five minutes, the two men fought like two cornered beasts. There was to be no mercy, no quarter given, or any other such notions of chivalry. Both men were out for blood, and shed each other's in copious amounts. But in the end, even Tygett Lannister's skill had to bow down to the sheer ferocity and rage of the Red Viper of Dorne. With Tygett Lannister's capture, the battle ended and all the remaining soldiers of the Lannister Army in the field surrendered._

 _But the crowning moment of this battle, came between the two giants of the battlefield, who fought what was perhaps the single greatest duel to have been fought in Westeros since Prince Aemon the Dragonknight fought Ser Morgil Hastwyck. Ser Arthur Dayne_ _ **'The Sword of the Morning'**_ _and the greatest swordsman in the known world._

 _Against him was Ser Gregor Clegane_ _ **'The Mountain that Rides'**_ _or_ _ **'The Beast of Lannister'**_ _,_ _ **'The rapist dog'**_ _and_ _ **'The baby-killer'**_ _, many were the titles given to the champion of House Lannister._

 _Two men, two incomparable warriors, one considered the epitome of chivalry and knighthood; and the other, known far and wide as a monstrous villain shielded only by the power and patronage of his liege lord. Their skills, undeniable. Their rage, unstoppable. Their battle, so magnificent and so awe inducing that every single person on the battlefield halted their fight as these two titans fought each other in a battle so ferocious, that some say a duel of this magnitude may never again be fought._

 _Both the men fought atop the ramparts of the eastern wall, the tallest wall of the fortress, and there Arthur Dayne brought forth the greatsword 'Dawn' and wielded it as he had never wielded it before in his life. Even his duel with the smiling knight had not been this fraught with danger, for Clegane fought like a cornered beast not caring for his own well-being and drew forth all his monstrous strength. It was a sheer display of skill against brute strength. In the end, through judicious use of sword play and movement, Ser Arthur maneuvered Clegane to the edge of the wall and then with a leaping overhand strike, shattered Clegane's sword and his helm in a single blow, cutting deep into the left side of Clegane's face, and robbing him of that eye permanently. The severity of the blow and the resilience of the bestial man actually managed to leave a single notch in 'Dawn' which had never before in its history been stained. Then, while Clegane roared and flailed about in his pain, for the first and last time in his life, Ser Arthur Dayne broke his own moral code and with a mad cry of vengeance kicked Gregor Clegane off the wall of the fortress to the ground below, bellowing a cry of rage that sank fear into everyone watching the battle._

 _Ser Gregor fell more than 150 feet towards the ground below, and yet miraculously due to his sheer size and bulk, and his full plate armor, he survived, although he shattered both his legs and cracked half his ribs. He still lived, much to his misfortune._

 _Finally, the battle ended as all the remaining Lannister soldiers in the city surrendered. But what they did not know at the time, was the Quentyn Martell intended to make examples of them all in a manner in which the world would never forget. In his own words, Quentyn remarked 'That he would teach Tywin Lannister the true essence of brutality', and he kept his word._

 _The Lion's Last Roar, by Archmaester Qyburn_

* * *

As he sat at the head of the table, with Mace Tyrell at his right side, and a severely bandaged Oberyn on his left, Quentyn was busy pondering on the next course of action, as all the commanders began to give in their reports of the losses sustained and the losses inflicted.

"The Yronwood army took the greatest losses today including the 9,000 from the last six days. Our casualties stand at 14,000 roughly," Anders Yronwood reported, while Quentyn nodded guardedly as Lord Yronwood reported his loss.

"The other assaulting half, of the Tarly army suffered 6,000 casualties today, and combined with our earlier losses, our total losses stand at 8,300 men," Randyll Tarly, the second commander reported his own numbers, as he too sat down next, while Quentyn nodded in agreement.

"This, along with the other casualties suffered under the troops of the other deputy commanders," added Lord Leyton Hightower, in his capacity as the chief of logistics and supplies for the entire coalition, as he looked through his notes and continued, "brings our tally of total dead to 25,000 men," he sighed, even as quite a few faces frowned at the number, "and the various wounded of all kinds, come up to 9,000 men. Of these 9,000, further 3,000 are not expected to survive, and at least 1,500 of these men are crippled for life, and can no longer be counted as soldiers. Therefore, overall in this battle, we have lost 28,000 men, and roughly 2,000 men due to various injuries. Of the overall strength of 120,000 men, we have lost 30,000 and we stand at 90,000. Of our provisions, we still have enough to last for four months. It is cynical, and rather ill-mannered to say this, but with so many deaths, we now have more provisions for the immediate future, as there are less mouths to feed than before. It is an inescapable fact that as distasteful as it maybe to consider all these things, war is not meant to be all beds and roses," the old lord continued in a somber tone.

"But still," Mace Tyrell continued in an uncharacteristically serious tone, "These casualties are far less than what we anticipated before the formation of the coalition. Our initial estimates had us losing as many as 40,000 men at the minimum, and nearly half the Reach army at its worst, and that is not even taking into account the forces under Robert Baratheon and Eddard Stark which are yet to come in front of us. I say this for all of us, that were it not for you, Prince Quentyn, while we would have won, we would have been at a much worse state than what we are in right now. It is not an exaggeration to say the least, that your strategies may have saved us all and the entire war effort itself," the Lord of the Reach concluded, and bowed in gratitude to the young prince, while murmurs of assent came from everyone in the room. Oberyn Martell in particular seemed flushed with pride as he watched his nephew receive his due.

He remembered his words to William Dayne. _The battle of Starpike brought him worldwide acclaim. His next will cement it forever._ He shook his head and whispered, "If only you were here to witness this moment, brother!" he shook his head, even as Quentyn acknowledged all the praises and congratulations and stood up.

"Lord Leyton," he spoke out, as all the talk in the room stopped, even as Quentyn looked at the lords assembled in the tent, "I would like you to assemble all the wounded soldiers who are capable of doing so, in a separate location within the next couple of hours," he ordered, while Leyton Hightower looked surprised at the request as did the other lords. "Also," he ordered, "please provide me with a list of the finances for the entire coalition, as I need to plan our next move carefully. Uncle," he addressed Oberyn who looked at him in surprise, "please add the list of financial contributions from the Dornish side as well to the list. The contribution from our side must match that of the Reach equally, dragon for dragon, stag to stag. Lord Mace, please walk with me," he concluded, and then with a curt bow to all, he walked out followed by a nonplussed Mace Tyrell.

"Well, I am lost, does anyone know what he is planning now?" Alester Florent asked in a gruff tone as he scratched his chin, while others shook their heads.

"I suppose we will find out soon enough," Leyton replied, even as he got up, "Please excuse me my Lords, I must gather and provide all the details to the Prince as soon as possible," the old Lord then walked out of the room leaving a gaggle of confused lords behind.

* * *

Two hours later, at an open field on the backside of the Bitterbridge fortress, nearly two thousand wounded soldiers from the Reach and Dorne alike gathered at the field, surprised by the sudden summons. Soon, a restlessness grew amongst them all, as they observed all the Lords of the entire army coming forth and standing atop a small mound on the front of the wall, facing them all.

Facing them all, Quentyn Martell stood atop the mound, dressed in his armor, with the Lords of the Reach standing to his left, and the Lords of Dorne to his right, with him in the middle. By now, all the soldiers in the two armies knew that it was the Prince of Dorne who was their supreme commander, and that he was the one who had led them to this magnificent victory. An air of expectation rippled across the ground as everybody waited for the Prince to speak.

" _Faithful soldiers of Dorne and the Reach,_ " Quentyn began with a clear and crisp voice, his tone carrying over to the entire field. "Y _ou have all fought bravely and made great sacrifices for us all. This sacrifice will ensure that your homes are no longer threatened by the tyrants who now claim the Iron throne, and we have avenged ourselves for the cruel sack of Bitterbridge by the hated Lannister's. This is a battle that will never be forgotten, nor will those who fought in it, from the highest ranked lord, to the unknown common soldier. Today, you have all carved your names into legend,_ " he concluded, even as the men cheered hoarse with shouts, approvals and whistles.

After a couple of minutes, he raised his hand and after a few minutes, silence reigned again on the field. " _For all of you, who have been wounded in battle and crippled for life, though I cannot heal you, I can at least offer some form of recompense. Every soldier who has been crippled for life will be given a reward of 300 golden dragons and your families will be exempt from any taxes for the next ten years. For those of you, who have not been crippled, but wounded severely and are no longer capable of battle, a reward of 150 golden dragons will be offered, and your families will be exempted from any taxes for the next 5 years. For those of you who are not gravely injured but are incapable of fighting anymore, anyone who still wishes to remain in the army despite your injuries, you will be given a leave of absence till you recover, and paid a sum of 50 golden dragons. Furthermore, all such men will be promoted by one rank in the army. My soldiers, my men, you have nothing to be ashamed of. Go home with your heads held high! I offer you my undying gratitude and thank you for your efforts,_ " with these words, in front of the stupefied lords and soldiers alike, the prince did the unthinkable. He brought his right forearm to his chest in a form of salute, and then clearly bowed to his waist, offering the deepest form of gratitude of thanks. After a second, every other lord in the retinue with him did the same involuntarily, carried forth through the sheer charisma of their leader.

For the soldiers in front of them, it was a surreal experience. To be honored in such a way, and in so grand a manner, filled their hearts with a searing admiration for the young prince. The roar of gratitude that erupted literally tore the skies apart, even as Prince Quentyn Martell made his way back to his tent, leaving behind a bevy of stupefied lords.

"Flawless," whispered Randyll Tarly, as he watched his commander leave. "This act alone will do far more to cement the loyalty of our men to us in an unshakable bond that no amount of fear or terror caused by Tywin Lannister or Robert Baratheon can break apart. He knows not just how to win battlefields, but also the hearts of men as well. I never knew that Dorne had such a diamond hidden in the rough. I must thank Tywin Lannister! In his arrogance and act of cruelty against Dorne, he has delivered to the Reach its means of salvation," the Lord of Hornhill wondered aloud, to which his fellow lords nodded mutely in agreement, still too numbed by the atmosphere.

* * *

After the euphoric meeting with the soldiers, the leaders of the coalition now returned to one of the most important tasks at hand, dealing with their prisoners. Of the nobility of the west, nearly half had met their ends in battle preferring death to dishonor. The remaining half were now to be judged for their crimes against the Reach and Dorne.

"Bring forth the prisoners," Archibald Yronwood, now acting as the captain of guards for Prince Quentyn spoke out.

The trials were to be held in front of the gates of Bitterbridge in full view of the coalition army. A separate platform had been constructed by the servants and squires, upon which Quentyn now sat with most of the commanders of the army standing behind him. Even Mace Tyrell and Oberyn had declined to sit, realizing the importance of what was about to happen.

In front of thousands of cheering Dornish and Reach soldiers, the leaders of the Lannister army were dragged forth. Divested of all armor, dressed in rags, and clad in chains, they cut a sorry figure. As they all came forward, Tygett Lannister, who had been taken into custody after being defeated in a most brutal manner by Oberyn Martell glared at Quentyn only to flinch as he noticed the look of tranquil fury upon the boy's face. At that moment, he knew. There would be no mercy here, no quarter given. He and his men were about to pay a most brutal price for Tywin's hubris.

"Bring out the first prisoner on the list," Quentyn ordered, to which Areo Hotah, his personal servant nodded and moved ahead with Archibald to drag the first prisoner forward on the dais.

" _ **Amory Lorch,**_ " Quentyn spoke out pleasantly, even as he filed his nails, without bothering to look at the man. " _Fighting in a war is far different compared to stabbing a three-year-old girl fifty times, is it not?_ " he asked coolly while Lorch was shaking madly and looking around wildly in a futile attempt to escape. The pig-like man was terrified out of his wits knowing that he was about to pay very dearly for the death of Rhaenys Targaryen. Too confident in the fact that Tywin Lannister's all-powerful hand would protect him from any retribution, he had never in his wildest dream's thought that he would end up in such a situation.

As he looked at the eyes of the Prince, it felt as if he was looking deep into an infernal abyss which would swallow him whole. For the first and last time in his miserable life, he managed to drag forth any and all ounces of courage he possessed and squeaked, "I ….I … I demand … trial … trial … by … combat!"

All the people on the dais were stupefied, while Oberyn snarled in rage, and picked up his spear and made to step forward, only to halt as Quentyn raised his hand indicating him to stop and stood up himself.

"You … demand … trial by combat?" he asked in a quiet tone which literally caused every man on the dais to shiver in terror, his enemies and allies alike. His voice seemed so cold, and an unnatural pressure enveloped the entire dais.

Perhaps it was the fear of death, which drove him to such recklessness, but Amory Lorch held his ground. "I am a knight … I demand a trial by combat," he insisted, pale and sweaty, but there was a glint of desperation and hardness in his eyes now.

"Hmm….," Quentyn mused, and then cruelly crushed his hopes. "Denied. I have never considered you to be a true knight and as such you will not be granted this right," he spoke out harshly, while the eyes of everyone on the dais and the vicinity, who heard those words, bulged out in shock at the blatant breaking of this most sacred of laws.

Mace made to step forward, but his father-in-law shook his head and silently warned him not to interfere. This was not the time.

"You talk as if you are a great warrior or knight, of the likes of Lyonel Baratheon or Gawayne Corbray, or Duncan the Tall. _**Let me tell you something, shit-licker of Tywin Lannister, weak and worthless pieces of trash like you do not have the right to pick the way in which you die!**_ " Quentyn growled, while Lorch squeaked in fear at the raw anger in the voice of the Prince of Dorne.

" _Fifty times, fifty times you stabbed a little child, your death will not be pleasant, Amory Lorch!_ " he growled as he looked at Areo Hotah and ordered, even as he looked at the gate of Bitterbridge castle standing dark and shining in the moonlight with a dark sheen.

" _The gateway of the castle and the wall above it are the shortest in height in the entire castle, about seventy-five feet I believe. Very well, take him to the top of the gateway and drop him down headfirst, and repeat this process fifty times. Should he die mid-way, drag his corpse up and continue until you reach the set number!_ " he ordered, while muted gasps came from everyone. A group of soldiers rushed to the dais and grabbed Lorch and began to drag him away, while Lorch looked at him with wide, terrified eyes even as his bowels gave away in sheer terror and he pissed and defecated on the spot in his tunic.

Even as Amory Lorch screamed and thrashed as he was dragged away to his ignominious death, everyone else was left shivering at the barbarity of the sentence. A couple of squires ran up with a bucket of water, and a mop and began to clean the dais.

"Next prisoner," the Prince growled, even as everyone stilled, while Areo Hotah looked at his list and uttered the most hated name in Dorne.

" **Gregor Clegane,** " the bearded priest uttered even as a ripple of what seemed like static passed through everyone on the dais.

"Bring him forth," the prince ordered in a tone that brooked no opposition, and the priest mutely nodded.

Soon, everyone observed a group coming forward led by a maester with ten men carrying a large bier upon which laid the broken figure of what used to be Ser Gregor Clegane.

"What is the meaning of this?" Mace Tyrell asked in a horrified whisper as he witnessed the shattered form of Tywin Lannister's most feared enforcer.

"You look my lord, upon the results of what 'The sword of the morning' did to his most hated enemy," the maester replied in a somber tone while Mace Tyrell blanched. Upon the completion of his momentous duel, Arthur Dayne had retreated into his tent and not come out at all. Looking at the shattered form of Gregor Clegane once again sank into everyone's mind as to how terrifying the greatest swordsman in the world could truly be when he went all out.

"What are his injuries?" Quentyn asked with a curt tone, to which the Maester replied, "He has a shattered collarbone, fifteen slash wounds of various intensities, six puncture wounds from a sword, left shoulder dislocated, and both his legs are shattered beyond repair, and his left eye is gone" the maester replied, while the crowd on the dais looked at the broken man in horrified fascination.

"And he is still alive!? A monster indeed …," asked an aghast Leyton Hightower. He was not the only one.

"Areo, summon four horsemen here," the prince ordered curtly, while the bearded priest nodded and went off, while others looked surprised, though they held their tongue.

Soon, the bearded priest returned with four horse and horsemen alongside, at which the prince gave his orders. "Get some ropes, tie one each to both of his hands, and the other two to both of his thighs on both legs," he ordered, which confused almost everyone present, while the prince remained stony faced.

Once it was done though, the cruelty behind those orders was revealed as the prince ordered each of the four horsemen to take hold of the other end of the ropes and ride in each of the four different directions, at the same time. He was essentially ordering Gregor Clegane to be torn apart by horses.

In front of the horrified onlookers and the entire army, the horsemen obeyed and moved forward, literally pulling each limb of the man in four different directions. The primal and guttural scream of pain that Gregor Clegane let out in that horrible moment seared the souls of everyone present. The screams continued for a minute more until Gregor Clegane was horrifically torn apart in a visceral scene of blood and gore, with his limbs and internal organs scattered to the four ends, essentially turning him into a lump of meat and nothing else.

For a second, even the stout heart of Tygett Lannister skipped a beat, as finally the fact that he and his family were now facing someone who was a hundred times more ruthless and dangerous than his brother sank inescapably into his mind.

He gazed defiantly at Quentyn, as the boy now stood in front of him.

" _Do your worst, boy, I am not afraid! Know that whatever you do, my brother will inflict it ten times upon you and yours!_ " he spat on the prince's face in a final act of defiance by a condemned man.

A roar of outrage came forth as nearly every man on the dais drew forth his blade, or spear depending on the person intent on running the Lannister through.

Oddly enough, it was the prince who stopped them, as he brought out a silk napkin and wiped his face, and inexplicably, began to laugh, hardly and uncontrollably.

That more than anything, filled everyone else on the dais, allies and enemies alike, with sheer bowel-dropping terror.

"Archibald, is your uncle done yet?" he asked the captain of his guards, who nodded mutedly, even as the prince finally brought himself under control.

"Very well, let us go there, drag the prisoners along!" Quentyn ordered, as Archibald Yronwood ran forward surprisingly quickly despite his huge bulk while a company of soldiers dragged the prisoners behind.

Soon, the company made its way to a field on the western side, where an army of 40,000 men under the supervision of Randyll Tarly were supervising the remaining soldiers of the Lannister Army in a massive excavation process, digging many large pits for some reason.

As he approached, Anders Yronwood and Randyll Tarly came forth with a stony expression on their faces.

"Is the work done?" Quentyn asked without preamble to which Yronwood nodded, "Yes, My Prince!"

"How many are there below? How many did we capture?" he continued, to which Tarly replied tersely, "There are eighteen thousand men below, My Lord. The rest all died at our hands."

"Good," the prince replied, steeling his heart knowing that he was about to inflict one of the greatest crimes in humanity's history. Something that once upon a time in his previous life had been inflicted upon his people by the leader of Qin's six generals, 'The Human Butcher', Hakuki.

"Nephew, what are you going to do?" asked Oberyn in a terse and worried tone, even as everybody else too seemed to realized that something horrible was about to occur.

"I told you before this battle, uncle," Quentyn uttered in a tone completely devoid of any emotion, "that by the time this battle ended, I would teach Tywin Lannister and this world, the true meaning of terror!"

" _ **Lord Tarly, Lord Yronwood! Hear my orders, bury alive these remaining eighteen thousand men of the Lannister Army along with all the leaders of the west!"**_ he ordered ignoring the look of unmitigated horror that sprang upon everyone's faces, friend and foe alike.

* * *

 _Battle of Bitterbridge: Order of Battle_

 _The Grand Army of the Westerlands_

 _Total men: 40,000_

 _Supreme Commander: Ser Tygett Lannister (Executed after capture)_

 _Deputy Commanders:_

 _Lord Roland Crakehall (killed in a duel with Baelor Hightower)_

 _Lord Andros Brax (killed in a duel with Archibald Yronwood)_

 _Lord Quenten Banefort (Killed in a duel with Alester Florent)_

 _Lord Reginald Westerling (Executed after capture)_

 _Lord Phillip Plumm (Released after captivity)_

 _Ser Amory Lorch (Executed after capture)_

 _Ser Gregor Clegane (Executed after capture)_

 _Total casualties: 39,950_

* * *

 _The Coalition of Dorne and Reach:_

 _Total Strength: 120,000 men_

 _Committed to Battle: 80,000_

 _Supreme Commander: Prince Quentyn Martell_

 _Deputy Commanders:_

 _Prince Oberyn Martell (Wounded in Battle)_

 _Lord Mace Tyrell (Non-combatant)_

 _Lord Leyton Hightower (Non-Combatant)_

 _Lord Anders Yronwood (Wounded in battle)_

 _Ser Archibald Yronwood (Wounded in battle)_

 _Ser Gerold Dayne_

 _Lord William Dayne_

 _Lord Harmen Uller_

 _Lord Randyll Tarly (Wounded in battle)_

 _Lord Alester Florent (Wounded in battle)_

 _Lord Baelor Hightower (Wounded in battle)_

 _Ser Aerys Oakheart_

 _Lord Mathis Rowan_

 _Ser Barristan Selmy_

 _Ser Arthur Dayne_

 _Total Losses: 30,000 men_

 _Of all the battles fought in Westeros, no battle has ever outmatched the number of those dead, as recorded in the Battle of Bitterbridge. Of the entire army of 40,000 men, Quentyn Martell spared only Lord Phillip Plumm, the oldest of the Lords in the Western Army along with 50 men, to act as the old lord's retinue, and as messengers to spread word of what would happen to those who would dare stand against him and the coalition army._

 _The complete annihilation of the Lannister Army destroyed the fighting potential of the Westerlands for at least two generations. The Westerlands, after this battle were finished as a political and military power for good for the foreseeable future. The entire cream of the crop, so to speak of the West's martial power had been annihilated. Its reputation and prestige had suffered a death blow from which it would not recover for the next twenty years. Tywin Lannister had from one stroke been turned from one of the most feared and powerful men in Westeros and in the entire world to a laughing stock. And yet, Quentyn Martell was not yet done with the old lion, not by a long shot._

 _The reaction in Kings Landing as well as the rest of the world towards the battle and to its terrifying aftermath was downright explosive._

 _The Lion's Last Roar, by Archmaester Ebrose_

* * *

 **Author's Note:** Well, sorry for the delay. I have written a lengthier chapter to make up for the delay, so hope that helps. Next few chapters will deal with the repercussion's and political blowback, after which we move to the final arc of the story. Besides, had to get this chapter out, before the last season airs tomorrow.


	31. Reactions (I) : Kings Landing

The audience chamber remained still as everybody watched the old man recount his tale. Today, every single person worth of note in the armies of the Rebellion had come to listen to the account of the rare few survivors of the decimation of the Westerlands Army.

In a chair in the middle of the hall right in front of the Iron Throne sat Phillip Plumm. On the throne was Robert Baratheon, King of the Andals, the Rhoynar, and the First Men, Lord of the Seven Kingdoms, and Protector of the Realm. Unusually grave, and silent, which was very rare for him, he was gazing at old Plum with a hint of fascination in his eyes. Next to him stood Hoster Tully, Lord Paramount of the Riverlands, and the acting hand in the absence of Jon Arryn, Lord Paramount of the Vale. The remaining leaders of the Rebellion were all present and watching in fascination at the sole survivors of Bitterbridge.

Conspicuous by his absence was Lord Tywin Lannister, Lord of Casterly Rock, Shield of Lannisport, Warden of the West. Upon his arrival, Plumm had first visited Tywin and had spoken to him for forty minutes, after which a thoroughly shaken Plumm had come out of the room and gone to his room. By morning, it was realized that Tywin Lannister had disappeared from the Kings Landing. In the middle of the night, Tywin had boarded his personal galley and departed as if the demons of hell were nipping upon his feet. The conclusion was inescapable in everyone's minds. Tywin Lannister had actually fled from Kings Landing fearing the wrath of Quentyn Martell!

When the king had heard of it, he had thrown a terrible tantrum in his rage, and had ordered the remaining survivors of Bitterbridge to come and give an account of what had happened in the aftermath of the battle, which was why the grand assembly had been called.

"Having lost the battle of Bitterbridge, we had laid down our weapons and surrendered. Eighteen thousand of us!" Plumm whispered as everyone became still and a few gasps of shock were heard at the huge figure. Never before in the history of Westeros had an army of that size surrendered. Even at the conclusion of the Battle of the Trident, the number of those who had surrendered was less than eight thousand. The remnants had all fled to the four corners, and had dissolved back into the common folk.

On his chair, Phillip Plum cut a pitiable figure. Broken, hunched down and in despair, he seemed to have aged further by twenty years, with his face wan, eyes bloodshot, and his body trembling. It was clear that the man had been completely broken by what he had witnessed.

"Then we were all gathered up and led to a barren wasteland, l-littered with g-gig-gigantic holes!" Plumm continued, as everybody became still as the macabre tale went on.

"A-and r-right above our eyes … sat Quentyn Martell," Plumm's eyes glazed over as he remembered the scene vividly.

* * *

 _On a barren wasteland, atop a hilltop on a chair almost akin to a throne, sat Quentyn Martell as he gazed at them all with pitiless eyes._

" _Curse you Martell! Is this how you treat men who have surrendered to you!"_

" _You are an inhumane bastard! Your infamy will be remembered for generations!"_

" _Ser Albert … Just what is he … going to do to us?"_

" _That's right! You are twisted! The heavens won't forgive you for this!"_

" _We'll curse you! Curse you with our dying breaths!"_

" _Mercy! Please spare us! There are some young boys here too! At least spare them!"_

" _No way in hell are we going to forgive you! You Dornish trash!"_

 _Finally, Quentyn stood up and gazed at the thousands of men below and spoke in a voice that carried over the fields._

" _Did you show mercy to the people of Bitterbridge whom you slaughtered like hogs? Those good people believed you to be allies and welcomed you with open arms, and yet you dogs committed the most heinous crime under the heavens by violating guest rights and slaughtered all the living beings in that city! The heavens reward those who are just and punish those who are unjust! This is the fate that awaits any man who serves Tywin Lannister! As long as that cursed old lion rules above you, this is all that awaits you!"_

" _ **DO IT!"**_ _he ordered as the soldiers of the coalition came forward and dragged the tied-up prisoners to the holes and began to throw them in by the hundreds. Screams for mercy rent the air, but there was not a single person who cared. As each hole was filled, the soldiers of the Reach who especially enjoyed this act, threw soil over the still breathing prisoners and began to bury them alive._

" _Damn, this is going to take all day!"_

" _I hope we can finish this by dinnertime!"_

" _Is … is this … okay!"_

" _Fuck off! This is what those cursed shits in the West deserve! Today we pay them back for Bitterbridge with interest! ...Bahahaha!"_

" _Die …. Lannister scum!"_

 _While the soldiers of the Reach and Dorne toiled like this, the men of the West were screaming themselves hoarse._

 _Suddenly a voice rang out. It was Tygett Lannister, who was being buried alive with all the Lords of the West who had been captured in a separate grave._

" _My friends … let's all die together … and curse Dorne with all of our hate for eternity!" he spoke even as piles of sand began to rise around him and in a few minutes … he too was buried alive._

* * *

As Phillip Plumm finished his tale, with tears streaming through his eyes, every man in the hall felt a chill down the back of their spines.

Robert was pensive and looked almost apprehensive, while Hoster wiped out a bead of sweat from his brow. For the first time, since the beginning of the rebellion, he wondered if they could survive this coming storm.

"Very well, Lord Plumm, if that is all, I grant you leave to return to the west to retire," Robert decided to end the assembly before the depressing mood in the hall infected everyone. At that moment, Phillip Plumm looked at Robert and spoke out, "A moment if you will, Your Grace, I have a message for you from Quentyn Martell himself," he spoke out in a listless tone while everybody in the room froze and turned almost as if they were synchronized at the same moment towards the old man.

"Oh?" Robert looked intrigued and sat back on the throne and waved for him to continue.

"You wish me to convey it here?" Plumm asked uncertainly, while Robert smirked.

"It makes no difference if you speak it here or in private Plumm, the brat will make sure that it is known to everybody in the world regardless. He likes to show off his grandeur after all, he would have made a magnificent mummer if he had not been born a prince," Robert chuckled, while a smattering of muted chuckles could be heard throughout the hall.

Plumm sighed and prepared himself for the veritable backlash that was sure to ensue. "Prince Quentyn has indicated that he has no intention of stopping and plans to move towards the West with his army. His ultimate goal is to take Casterly Rock. He will not rest until Tywin lies bound beneath his feet," Plumm continued, at which Robert froze on the throne with a stupefied look on his face, while Hoster Tully took a deep breath to steady himself.

"Audacious little brat, just because he has won a couple of battles, he thinks he can take Casterly Rock? That young fool does not know his limits!" Hoster snorted in contempt, while Robert smirked and shook his head in pity. It truly seemed that his few victories had inflated the sense of self-worth the boy prince possessed. There was a reason why Casterly Rock was known as one of the five impregnable fortresses in the entire known world. Since the age of heroes, no one apart from _Lann the Clever_ himself had managed to take it, and this boy-prince claimed that he would do it! Preposterous! Absurd! There was a limit to how arrogant one could be!

"That is all?" Robert asked with a wry chuckle, to which Plumm took a deep sigh and continued in an almost fatalistic tone. " _He also states that before marching to Casterly Rock, he needs his armies to rest, and therefore he orders you to vacate Kings Landing so that his forces can use it as a rest stop_."

For a second, it appeared as if time itself had stood still in the grand hall. The words were so audacious, so out of context and belief, that the meaning of those words itself did not sink into the heads of most of the people present for a few moments.

A few seconds later, Robert stood up from the Iron Throne and roared in anger " **WHAT DID YOU SAY!?"** followed by Hoster and every other member of the Rebellion who followed their king similarly.

" _That fucking brat dares to …"_

" _How dare he …"_

" _Who the hell does that whelp think he is?"_

" _That up-jumped son of a bitch!"_

Robert looked at Plumm and forcibly restrained himself and sat on the throne and waved at Plumm ordering him to continue.

Plumm bowed and continued, "Quentyn Martell has crowned himself the King of Southern Westeros and has claimed Dorne, the Reach and the Crownlands as his domains. Mace Tyrell has already bent the knee and pledged the Reach to him. He and all the lords of the Reach and Dorne are now making their way to Oldtown where he intends to crown himself the King of Southern Westeros in the Starry Sept!"

Robert gripped the armrest of the throne so hard that the blades cut deep into his palms and they began to bleed, but he gave no heed as he looked at old Plumm with a relentless gaze. Hoster Tully was aghast at the turn of events, which had spiraled so badly out of control and literally moaned in pain at the unfurling disaster.

The hall was deadly silent as everybody held their breaths and looked at Robert in fear and apprehension.

"Is that all or is there more?" Robert asked with a grunt as he looked at Plumm with a piercing gaze.

"He has said that as long as you vacate the Crownlands and Kings Landing, he will spare your life and not consider you his enemy any more. In his words, it was your idiotic decision to support Tywin Lannister after the deaths of Elia Martell and her children that put you at odds with him. He says that as long as you apologize for supporting Tywin and withdraw peacefully, he will allow you to live. He will even allow you to take the Iron Throne with yourself so that you may crown yourself the King of the remaining Kingdoms in Westeros, if you so desire!" Plumm finished and sank down on his chair, while Robert's face reddened until it looked like a ripe tomato ready to burst. Hoster physically winced as if somebody was pouring molten iron into his ears, before he suddenly paused, and turned to look at Plumm with an incredulous gaze.

" **WHAT THE HELL DO YOU MEAN BY SAYING THAT HE WILL ALLOW US TO TAKE THE IRON THRONE WITH US!?"**

For a few minutes Plumm remained silent, and then fatalistically shrugged, " _In his words, the Iron throne is nothing but a worthless piece of scrap metal and means nothing to him. According to him, a true king is recognized by his deeds, and not by sitting his useless arse on a piece of worthless junk. But since it means a lot to some of the other lesser lords in Westeros, he is willing to allow you to take it with you as compensation for peacefully vacating the Crownlands. That concludes his message, Your Grace!_ "

Every single person in the hall shot up to their feet, Robert included, with shock and horror on their faces. The sheer arrogance in the words, the disdain, the contempt in those words directed towards them, seared their hearts as if they were being branded by a burning iron rod.

" **THAT FUCKING PIECE OF SHIT!"** Finally, Robert Baratheon gave in to his rage, and with a terrifying roar, grasped the armrests of the Iron Throne and without caring for the wounds that caused, heaved with all his might, until finally, the Iron Throne itself shook from its foundations. Without caring, in his rage, Robert brought forth all his monstrous strength and heaved until the Iron Throne itself tilted and then fell to the side with a thunderous crash!

A deathly silence prevailed in the hall and everybody lowered their eyes, not even daring to look at their King. The rumors about Robert Baratheon's monstrous strength had always been bandied about, and had gained some credence when he had crushed Rhaegar Targaryen's plate armor with a single blow of his Warhammer, but this, this shook their hearts to the core. Finally, they realized, that the demon of the Trident had well and truly been enraged beyond reason.

At that moment, they all knew deep in their hearts.

The Monster of Dorne was going to clash against The Demon of the Trident and this battle would decide the fate of Westeros.

* * *

 **Author's Note:**

Thanks for waiting everyone. I have decided to do the reactions piece by piece as POV chapters. Kings Landing will be the first, and from their it will go through Casterly Rock, Highgarden, and end with Essos.

After which, we move on to the last arc of this story 'The Battle of Kings Landing'.


	32. Reactions (II): Casterly Rock

Genna Lannister tiredly sat down in the study of Casterly Rock, with her head throbbing slightly due to lack of sleep in the last few days making her sluggish. Just as everyone, else she had gotten only a few short hours of sleep after two days and one night of ceaseless activity after the news of the decimation of Bitterbridge broke out. First the sheer shock of the scale of the calamity at Bitterbridge and then the disaster control had required her complete attention, but now it was time to take stock and make decisions. She already knew things were beyond bad; the question was exactly how much.

Apparently, she was the first one to arrive at the chambers, meaning she had a few minutes to relax. Dim light was entering through slit-like windows and the sound of heavy rain was clearly audible. Looking around, Genna observed the room and took a dim view of the spartan setting that Tywin indulged himself in. The room was admittedly austere but nevertheless decorated with several rare objects, indicating a high standard of living.

One by one the people invited to this meeting filed in. The normal members of House Lannister's great council had been much reduced in number. Of the original members only she as the sole woman, and Stafford Lannister, the Castellan of Lannisport and the acting commander of the Western Armies, were present. Conspicuous by their absence were Kevan and Tygett who were now both dead.

Soon, Gerion Lannister entered and took a seat at the head of the table as the sole present male member of the lineage of Tytos Lannister.

"Why isn't Tywin here?" Genna asked curiously, even as Stafford looked at him in surprise.

"That is what we are here to discuss," Gerion replied with a clipped tone, as if he was struggling to express himself properly.

"Tywin has ceded the lordship of Casterly Rock to me and my line for perpetuity," Gerion observed, even as the eyes of the other two members widened in absolute shock.

"What … how …. when?" Genna blubbered in shock, while Stafford seemed agitated, even as Gerion sank into his chair listlessly.

"If House Lannister is to survive as the overlord of the West, then this was the only possible way out, as per his words," Gerion replied with a tone laced with sadness while Genna fell down to her seat unable to stand at the shock she had received.

"You do not yet understand the scale of the damage we have suffered, Genna! This is the greatest defeat the West and House Lannister has ever faced in our thousands of years of existence. Not even in the age of Heroes and the Field of Fire, were we pressed to such dire straits. Tywin has led not only our house but almost every single noble house in the West to extinction. The only reason why they have not mutinied to put every single member of our house to the sword for this disaster is because they lack the strength to do so. But regardless, there is not a man alive in the West apart from those in Lannisport and Casterly Rock who will listen to Tywin, not anymore," Gerion spoke the grim truth while Genna stifled a gasp of shock before nodding in acceptance. That was another piece of bad news. She had heard of some of the difficulties Tywin had started to face in holding the slowly fracturing Westerlands together.

Soon, there was a knock at the door, and the page at the door entered and after a nod of approval from Gerion, walked out and soon guided another person in. Phillip Plumm, the sole surviving leader of the Western Army from Bitterbridge.

Plumm limped into the room supported on a cane. The old man didn't have any obvious injuries, but he obviously wasn't in good shape. He took his place with careful, measured movements, new bandages covering the side of his head and body. From what Genna had heard his fight against one of the Reach Commanders leading the invasion had been a close thing. The good luck in this whole series of unfortunate events was that he had lived while his opponent had lost his life. Even her husband had not been spared. Poor Emmon. He was really not built for this life.

Gerion cleared his throat. "Now that we are all present, we can begin. As I have stated, Tywin has relinquished command of the West to me. As the new Lord Paramount, I will take over the leadership of House Lannister and the Westerlands." When nobody spoke up, he turned towards Old Lord Plumm. "Lord Plumm, please explain to us in detail as to what happened in the Battle of Bitterbridge? I believe in light of the recent events we have been given good enough reason to seriously consider surrender to the Dornish-Reach Alliance, if Robert Baratheon fails to prevail."

He did not speak of what he and Tywin had discussed in secret to the others. Now was not the time. Sighing, he leaned forward to hear old Plumm talk of what happened in that ill-fated battle.

* * *

Meanwhile, in his private solar, at the same time, Tywin was speaking to his two remaining children, Cersei and Tyrion.

Both of them were subdued as they took in the broken form of their father, who seemed to have aged by thirty years in a short span.

Of everyone present, Tyrion, the nine-year old son of Tywin was the most apprehensive. With the death his elder brother Jaime and his uncle Kevan, all the people who treated him humanely in his family were now dead. There was no one left to help him if his lord father decided to cast him out now. Cersei, on the other hand, was quiet. She had been like that since Jaime's death.

"Cersei, Tyrion, sit, I have not much time to speak to you," Tywin spoke softly while the two of them jumped. Tywin had never addressed them in such soft tones, even when he spoke kindly, it had always from an authoritarian tone, not like this.

"Tyrion, Cersei, I have failed you," Tywin admitted bluntly while the two of them looked at him petrified in shock. Tywin Lannister admitting failure! What?!

"Over the last few months, I have come to regret many things," Tywin continued, even as he closed his eyes for a moment, "But above all, I regret my decision for getting rid of the Martell girl and her children."

Breaths were sucked in around the room. "I have always been a prideful man. I have never forgotten a slight and have always repaid any slights with a vengeance hundredfold in return. Kevan always said that my pride had turned to arrogance and that I believed myself untouchable and one day it would lead to disaster for me! He was right, but at the height of my power I did not heed wise counsel and now all is lost! My hatred for Aerys spilled over and I miscalculated. Yes, that poor girl and her children could have been spared, but in my arrogance and in my desire to ensure that there were no threats to Cersei's future as the queen and to secure her lineage I went … too far. My hatred for Aerys had blinded me to reason and now it has become the root of all our misfortune!" Tywin sighed as he leaned back on his chair and closed his eyes.

Cersei and Tyrion were petrified and looked at each other helplessly not knowing what to say.

"Father," Cersei asked hesitantly, "What is going on? Why are you so …," she tried to speak when Tywin raised his hand and interrupted her.

"Listen to me, both of you," he continued.

"Elia Martell's death has now become a death sentence to our entire house. Her foster-son will not stop until he kills me. Even if he has to burn the world to ashes, he will not hesitate. He will not sleep, he will not eat, he will not drink, he will never rest until he has killed me, and I … I am no match for him. I now understand that I never was!" Tywin admitted bitterly.

"Had I known that the boy was someone of this caliber, forget that fool Rhaegar, I would have offered your hand Cersei, to him. But that is all moot. The fact of the matter is, Quentyn Martell is not going to stop until he has killed me. I now understand this. The only reason why he and his allies are not marching on Casterly Rock right now is because they have stopped to consolidate their gains. Once their preparations are complete, they will fall upon us like a tidal wave and wash us away like flotsam in front of a flood. Steps must therefore be taken to ensure the survival of our house and the West!"

"Father, you are scaring me," Cersei whispered, while Tyrion was looking wide-eyed and petrified at seeing this side of his father.

"Good! Then you understand the seriousness of the situation! Tyrion," Tywin continued, as he looked at his son, "Forgive me," he said with a short bow to which Tyrion squeaked and almost fell of his chair in shock.

"I … have not been a good father to you, and now, with the loss of your brother, it is too late for regrets. Your brother was a great warrior and in time would have become the greatest in Westeros. Yet, he fell, for a single vile trick by our enemies. I expect you to take this knowledge to heart and grow further. Against our current enemies, it is wisdom and not strength, that has a chance of success. After all, Quentyn Martell, our mortal enemy, is a man with talents at an unprecedented level. We have well and truly been beaten decisively by him, this time. What a pain! Those who always stand at the top will be overthrown by those who are even stronger from the next generation. It seems that for the foreseeable future, Westeros and its future will revolve around that boy at its center. However, even that will last only until he is overtaken by the rising star of the next generation," Tywin spoke enigmatically as he looked at Tyrion, whose eyes went wide.

"For now, let me tell you what is going to happen. Because of the calamity of Bitterbridge, my rule over the west is at an end," he concluded, while Cersei and Tyrion shot up to their feet in alarm.

"Father, this cannot be! Are the houses rebelling against … you?" Cersei almost screeched in anger and frustration, while Tywin shook his head.

"It has gone beyond the point of Rebellion, Cersei," Tywin spoke out softly. "The decimation of Bitterbridge has depopulated the West by half. If they were able to muster any strength, they would have marched on Casterly Rock and bound me hand to foot and would hand me to Quentyn Martell themselves, to save their own lives. Fear, trumps everything. Even Loyalty. For years, the fear that I would subject them to another Castamere kept them loyal to me. Now, the fear that Quentyn Martell will subject them to another Bitterbridge is all that hovers in their minds. They no longer fear me. They fear him. Only their lack of strength stops them from open rebellion, which gives us time to plan for our future."

"But …," Cersei struggled to speak, when Tyrion shook his head indicating her head to stop.

Nodding appreciatively at his dwarf son, Tywin continued, "In this climate, I have taken certain steps to ensure what is the best possible scenario for us and our house. Accordingly, I have ceded the rights and titles to Casterly Rock for myself and my line and handed it over to Gerion. From now on, Gerion and his children henceforth will rule the West. The bannermen will never obey me or anyone from my line ever again. The battle at Bitterbridge has seen to that," Tywin dropped the news like a thunderbolt to his children who looked stunned.

"Tyrion, above all, this is an injustice to you, I know that," Tywin addressed his son, who was looking dejected. "With Jaime's death, Casterly Rock and the West should have been yours, but it is not to be. I have spoken to Gerion, and Castamere and Tarbeck Lands will be merged and given to you. In the eyes of the world, giving Castamere to you could be seen as mocking me, but in reality, Castamere is the second wealthiest land in the west. The mines in Castamere are as good as that of Casterly Rock and they have not been as deeply mined as we had not given the Reyne's and Tarbeck's the rights to mine them. So, you will have a fief that is not lacking for resources. It will be up to you and your descendants in the future to avenge all that has befallen us today. Bide your time, build up your strength, pass on the truth and stoke the fires of vengeance within the future generations, and in another twenty years, ensure that the blood of the west boils and that the Lions roar their vengeance to the world."

"As you say, father, Jaime and uncle Kevan's death must be answered for. We will pay our debts," Tyrion clenched his fists, while Tywin nodded.

"Cersei, I know that you and Tyrion have your differences, but, bury them, bury them deep. The only person you can depend on in the future will be Tyrion and likewise for him as well. Gerion and Genna will not let any harm come to you, but they will not live forever. It is up to you two to handle the future," Tywin advised his headstrong daughter, who was now weeping relentlessly.

"Cersei, once I had hoped to make you queen, which has led to this chain of events. But now, even in my end times, I am still not a man without resources. I have called upon some old acquaintances and they have agreed to aid me one last time. Soon, Catelyn Tully and her unborn child will die, and then, Gerion will offer your hand to Eddard Stark and ally the West with the North. Agree to it. That is the only way you and the Westerlands can survive. In the entirety of Westeros, Eddard Stark is the only man who can match Quentyn Martell strength for strength. With the might of the Northern Alliance behind you, you will be safe," Tywin advised his daughter who looked at him in shock.

"But … father, why are you speaking like you don't expect to survive at all? You have been talking about us and the future, but what about you?" Cersei asked tremulously, to which Twyin gave a wan smile.

"That is because I don't expect to survive," he candidly admitted. "Soon, I will depart for Kings Landing and join the army that Robert Baratheon is raising to fight the Martell-Reach alliance. It is a foregone conclusion that Robert Baratheon will fall. If what I have heard is correct, the alliance between Robert and Eddard Stark is all but over. Stark disapproved of his friend's behavior over the death of the Martell girl and her children, and with his own sister most likely being dead, he will not risk his men further needlessly. Without Eddard Stark by his side, Robert is lost. He is known as a great warrior but with Arthur Dayne on his side, the prince of Dorne is not without counters as well. And as far as battle tactics and strategy is concerned, Robert is no match for the Prince. So yes, that army will fall, and as part of that army, I too … will fall. With my death, Gerion will ascend to Paramountship officially, and all we have discussed will come to pass. With my death, Quentyn Martell will not persecute you two or the West anymore."

"Father, you can't," Cersei shot up to her feet and screamed hysterically, while Tyrion clenched his fist so hard that his nails cut into his palms and they started bleeding. He may not have liked his father, but to see his father so broken, so beyond despair, was gut-wrenching, even for him.

"Cersei, what choice do I have? The Prince of Dorne has left me no choice. If I don't do this, all is lost. Ahh … Aerys, you finally have your vengeance for my betrayal. No, this is the God's means of punishing me for my pride and my foolishness," Tywin sighed as he consoled his hysterical daughter while looking morosely at the painting of his beloved wife. _I will see you soon, Joanna._

* * *

 **Author's Note: Next, HighGarden**


End file.
